Rear Window Faberry Style
by Kayden Kerouac
Summary: Replace Jimmy Stewart with Quinn Fabray, and Grace Kelly with Rachel Berry! WONDERFUL...my Faberry version on Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window...never seen the movie, well this is the same...seen the movie and want it Faberried...READ IT!
1. Chapter 1

**Title : Rear Window Faberry Style  
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**DISCLAIMER : I don't own Glee and I don't own any of Alfred Hitchcocks movies.  
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**Note : Every time I watch this movie I can't help but think that Jimmy Stewarts character is totally Quinn, and Grace Kelly's is totally Rachel. I tried to keep it as much like the movie's script just switching up things here and there to fit Glee. I actually have to original script to the film so a lot of the dialogue is verbatim. If you don't like that...don't read it. Like I said some of it's me some of it's the script. Let me know what you think and them maybe continue on with my idea of converting some of my favorite old films into some much needed Faberry!  
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**Pairing : Quinn/Rachel other characters' Santana, Puck, Brittany, Finn, Mike, Tine, Artie, Sue, Will, and Emma (mind you most are playing small nameless roles but you should figure out who is who as time goes by, just from description.)  
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><p>It's the middle of a very humid summer morning in Greenwich Village. The year is 1953. A sleeping Quinn Fabray sits in a wheelchair, her right leg cast up to her hips. It reads, "Here lie the broken bones of Q. Fabray" A gentle bead of sweat rolls down the side of her brow. Behind her are large open windows, looking out to the courtyard of a middle class apartment complex. The tenants all up to their own morning rituals. A very tall man stands shaving using a hand held mirror to see, while listening to the radio. Something the announcer says gets him flustered and he quickly changes stations until music fills his studio apartment. A man laying on a plane mattress sprawled out on his fire escape, wakes from a sticky slumber. The Asian man sits up and motions to stir his still snoring wife awake. The disheveled woman rises from the opposite direction he's in looking as though she's maybe had an hour of rest. Another apartment reveals a very tall blonde woman dancing around her very small apartment in only her underwear. She seems to be making herself toast while working her hips and arms in wild gestured rotations.<p>

Back in Quinn's apartment she's still sleeping soundly. Her room littered in camera parts and photos of various places in the world. A picture of a race car hurling towards a camera is framed just above what looks to be a destroyed camera. Photos of battle fronts and Korean men. Another framed photo sitting on a relatively clear desk that is in comparison to the rest of the surfaces the room has to offer. Is a negative photo of a very beautiful young brunette smiling gingerly at the camera. Next to it lies the same image in positive light on the cover of a magazine.

Suddenly the phone rings, Quinn shakes herself awake before reaching for the just barely out of reach phone. She sighs and pushes herself forward knocking the ringing receiver into her lap.

"Fabray." She answers

"Congratulations, Quinn!" A woman says on the other line of the phone. A confused look graces the harsher features of the blonde woman's face.

"For what?"

"For getting rid of that cast!"

"Who said I was getting rid of it?" She says while shifting in her chair scanning her neighbors presentments from her window. Quinn's attention is drawn to the aforementioned dancing blonde in the apartment across from her. A smug smile sparks across her lips. The phone conversation continues.

"This is Wednesday." The other woman says with certainty.

"Sylvester, how did you get to be such a big editor with such a small memory?"

"Wrong day?"

"Wrong week. Next Wednesday I emerge from this plaster cocoon."

"That's too bad Q. Well, I guess I can't be lucky every day. Forget I called."

"Yeah. I sure feel sorry for you, Sylvester. Must be rough on you thinking of me wearing this cast another whole week."

"That one week is going to cost me my best photographer. And you a big assignment!"

Quinn sits upright in her chair, shifting uncomfortably trying to move against her sedentary tomb of a cast. She eagerly responds to the remark made.

"Where?"

"There's no point in even talking about it."

The events of the neighborhood continue on their way, not without going unnoticed by Quinn. She watches as a rather round older woman begins to sunbathe. Then the same tall man from earlier begins to play on a baby grand piano. Cars zoom past from the street just past the buildings. Again Quinn pushes the other woman for information.

"Where?"

A sigh rings on the other end.

"Indo, China. Got a code tip from the bureau chief this morning. The place is about to go up in smoke!"

Quinn can't help her excitement as she thinks of how much better that sounds than the hell she's been stuck in for the past few months.

"Ok, When do I leave? Half hour? An hour?"

"Not with that cast on you don't."

"Stop sounding stuffy. I'll take pictures from a jeep. From a water buffalo if necessary."

"You're too valuable to the magazine for us to play around with. I'll send Artie or Blaine."

"Swell. I get myself half killed for you, and you reward me by sending one of those two on my assignments."

"I didn't ask you to stand in the middle of that race track."

"You asked for something dramatically different and I gave it to you!" She spews with the slightest hint of distain.

"Goodbye Q." Before the woman can hang up Quinn states in a rushed tone.

"You've got to get me out of here! Six weeks, sitting in a two room apartment. With nothing to do but look out the window at the neighbors!" She sighs heavily as she glances at the usual daily scenes before her. "It's worse than being water boarded."

"I'm sorry Quinn."

"Ya gotta get me out of here Sue. If I'm here much longer I-I don't know what I'll do. I'll do something drastic."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know I'll, I'll get married."

"You should."

"Ha, I can't handle that. All that nagging."

"Wife's don't nag Q, they discuss."

"Maybe where you're from, but from these windows what I can tell is they still nag!"

"Ok Fabray, well. I'll talk to you later."

With that she hangs up the phone and stares with utter hatred at the cast she's grown to loath. Directly across the way she watches the man and his wife argue. She smiles to herself reaffirming what she just stated on the phone. The thin man throws his arms up in surrender as he makes his way out of the apartment and to the yard below. He begins to till the flower bed at the far end of the yard. His young redheaded wife lays back in her bed folding her arms across her chest grumbling to herself.

Quinn watches the scene unfold, when from behind her the sound of her front door closing causes her to turn her chair around.

"Ya know Ms. Fabray, New York State sentence for a peeping Tom is six months in the workhouse."

"Hello Santana."

"There aren't windows in workhouses Quinn."

Santana throws her things on a table and makes her way to Quinn. She hands her a thermometer which Quinn accepts and sticks in her own mouth.

"Years ago, they used to put out your eyes with a hot poker. Is that blonde bombshell over there you're always leering at worth the loss of your shooting eye?"

Santana reaches into her bag and grabs a few supplies before reaching for the thermometer.

"We've all become a race of peeping Toms. What people should do is stand outside their houses and look in once in a while. How's that for a little homespun philosophy?"

Quinn be the smart ass that she is.

"Reader's Digest, April, 1939."

"Well, I only quote from the best."

She reads the thermometer, seeing that the younger woman's temperature is fine she helps to lift her from the wheelchair and leads her to the bed. Helping the injured woman remove her pajama top, and laying her face down on the bed. She begins to run oil on the blondes back and massages out any and all kinks from being restrained to a wheelchair for so long.

"I should have been a fortune teller." Santana continues with or without Quinn's approval to listen. "Instead of just a nurse. I've got a nose for trouble. I can smell it a mile away. And you always looking out these windows, well can't be nothing but trouble. You see things you shouldn't see. I can see you now, in front of the judge. You're pleading, "Judge, it was only innocent fun. I love my neighbors, like a mother." The judge answers, "Congratulations Ms. Fabray, you've just given birth to three years in Dannemora."

Quinn smiles and shakes her head at the tanned woman.

"Right now I'd even welcome trouble." She grunts at a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder as Santana continues to rub unabashedly. "You know, there is going to be some trouble around here." Santana digs deeper causing Quinn to jerk.

"I knew it!"

"Don't you know how to be softer about this?"

"Soft doesn't work kinks out, does it Fabray? What kind of trouble?"

"Rachel Berry." She says dryly awaiting a response.

"You must be kidding. A beautiful young woman, and you a reasonably healthy specimen."

"She expects me to marry her."

"That's normal."

"I don't want to." Santana again squeezes hard on a tender muscle.

"That's abnormal."

"I'm not ready for marriage."

"Nonsense. A woman is always ready for marriage. With the right person. And Rachel Berry, is the right girl for anyone with half a brain, who can get one eye open."

"She's alright." Quinn says with a tone of indifference. Santana lurches Quinn up off the bed sending shock through the girls body. She roughly helps her into a fresh shirt and more or less shoves her back into her chair.

"Behind every ridiculous statement is always hidden the true cause. What is it? You have a fight?"

"No." Quinn again shifts uncomfortably.

"Her fathers loading up the shotgun?"

"What?"

"It's happened before, you know! Some of the world's happiest marriages have started under the gun."

"She's just not the girl for me."

"She's only perfect."

"Too perfect. Too beautiful, too talented, too sophisticated, too everything…but what I want." She says staring out her window again. Santana just listens intently hoping the usually very closed off girl with continue with her subconscious rant. "She belongs in Park Avenue, expensive restaurants, and literary cocktail parties."

"People with sense can belong wherever they're put."

"Can you see her tramping around the world with a camera bum who never has more than a week's salary in the bank? If only she was ordinary."

Santana combs out a crazy end of Quinn's hair making her look a little less dismantled.

"So are you ever going to marry then Quinn?"

"Probably. But when I do, it'll be to someone who thinks of life as more that a new dress, a lobster dinner, and the latest scandal. I need a woman who'll go anywhere, do anything, and Love it. The only honest thing to do is call it off. Let her look for somebody else."

"I can hear you now. "Get out of here you perfect, wonderful woman! You're too good for me!" She turns Quinn around to look her in the eyes. " Look Quinn. I'm not educated. I'm not even sophisticated. But I can tell you this. When two people see each other, and like each other, they should come together. Wham! Like two taxies on Broadway. Not sit around studying each other like atoms in a microscope. "

"Yeah well, there's a smart way to approach marriage."

"Ha! Baloney! Once it was see somebody, get excited, get married. Now, it's build walls, over think and psychoanalyze each other until you can't tell a pro from a con."

"Santana, people have different emotional levels that…"

"Ask for trouble and you get it. There's a sweet girl on my block who went with this boy for 3 years. And then she refused to marry him. Why? Because he only scored a 60 on a Look Magazine marriage quiz!"

"Would you make me a sandwich." She asked as if completely oblivious to the entire conversation. Santana huffs.

"Fine But I'm going to spread some sense on the bread. Rachel Berry's loaded to her fingertips with love for you. I'll give you two words of advice. Marry her!"

"She pay you much?" Quinn smiles as Santana makes her way to the kitchen shaking her head in disappointment.

Quinn turns back her wheelchair and watches the yard again and the different little windows into separate worlds than her own. A couple in a vacant apartment say goodbye to the landlord. The man lifts the slender woman into his arms and carries her over the threshold of the room. Setting her down her arms reach up around his neck. He dips down and places a gentle kiss on her lips before she breaks away and gestures to the shade of the window. He draws it down and Quinn sighs softly with an almost longing in her tone.

"Window Shopper." Quinn swats Santana as she accepts the sandwich.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter. I know that some of you are probably like...hey, are you literally just rewriting what was already written. The answer is...sorta yeah. I'm doing this out of my own want to have this movie be faberry. Plus I know that some people have never seen the movie so the more accurate the better. Everything being said is so close to what I feel Quinn and Rachel would say if in this situation in that time era. The further into the story I get the less I'll go by script...I'll add in some scenes too I think but for now I'm just trying to lay the ground work for the story.  
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><p>The sun is setting on the courtyard now, Quinn is once again asleep in her chair. The sound of approaching footsteps wakes her from her nap. Chocolate brown eyes meet hers and she can't help but let a simple smiles force it's way to her mouth. The brunette from the magazine kisses her lips sweetly before letting her eyes flutter open just inches from Quinn's face.<p>

"How's your leg?"

"Mmmm, hurts a little." Quinn lets herself stretch as much as she can from her prison of a cast.

"And your stomach?" The brunette asks with a genuine look of concern for the wheelchair bound woman.

"Empty as a football." She nods at the statement.

"And your love life?" Her eyes gleam at her own questions.

"Not too active." Quinn states with false dryness.

"Anything else bothering you?" She asks coming a little closer.

"Uh huh. Who are you?" She says with a serious expression. The brunette lets out a small giggle before rising from her seat beside Quinn. She makes her way to a lamp hanging in the distance, turning it on. Her face finally being lit fully and the full spectrum of her beauty visible. As she makes her way to the rest of the lights in the room.

"Reading from top to bottom." She flicks on a light. "Rachel." She reaches for a lamp higher on a shelf and flicks the switch lighting up that corner of the apartment. "Barbara." With the last light lit she gives a bright radiating smile and states her last name. "Berry." Quinn can't help but smile at the witty girl.

"The Rachel Berry who never wears the same dress twice?"

"Only because it's expected of her." Rachel grabs hold of the full length gown she's wearing taking a small turn letting the dress spin with her. "Right off the Paris plane. Think it will sell?"

"Depends on the quote. Let's see, there's plane tickets over, import duties, hidden taxes, profit markups."

"It's a steal at eleven hundred dollars." Quinn puts her hand to her heart and whistles in response.

"That dress should be listed on the stock exchange."

"We sell a dozen a day in this price range."

"Who buys them? Tax collectors?" Quinn notices Rachel looking around for something. "Something big going on somewhere?"

"Going on here. It's a big night." Rachel sashes around the room.

"It's just your run of the mill Monday. Calendar's loaded with them."

"It's opening night of the last depressing week of Quinn Fabray in a cast."

"Hasn't been any big demand for tickets."

"That's because I bought out the house." Rachel slowly makes her way to Quinn's side again her fingers fiddling as if nervous. She leans down to kiss the blonde again before she takes a sudden intake of breath and lurches upward. "OH!" She rushes back toward the door. "What would you think of starting off with dinner at the "21"?"

"You have perhaps an ambulance outside?" Quinn says with sarcasm.

"Better than that. The "21." Rachel opens the door revealing a bell hop wielding a cart filled with catered food dishes and champagne. The waiter makes his way to the kitchen being lead by Rachel. "Thank you for waiting Sam." The man smiles and nod at her. "I'll take the champagne." The slender man hands her the chilled bottle.

"Good evening, Ms. Fabray."

"Hello." Sam disappears into the kitchen.

"Just put everything right in the oven Sam. On low!" The brunette shouts out while struggling to get the cork out.

"Yes, Ma'am." Rachel sets down the bottle looking flustered and grabs two rather large looking stemmed glasses setting them on a table next to Quinn.

"The good corkscrews on the right." She tries again to pop the cork.

"I couldn't think of anything more boring and tiresome than what you've been through. And the last week must be the hardest."

"Yeah, you have no idea how bad I want this thing off!"

Still struggling with the bottle. "Well, I'm going to make this a week you'll never forget."

Sam comes out of the kitchen pushing the empty cart. He's sees Rachel having trouble with the champagne. "Here, let me help you madam." Within a second it's out and he pours the contents into the two glasses.

"This will take care of the taxi as well." She hands him well over the amount needed.

"Thank you Miss Berry. Have a pleasant dinner, Ms. Fabray." Quinn just nods through her already half empty glass.

Rachel sits herself on the end of Quinn's bed. "What a day I've had!" Her legs crossing seductively before the other girl. Quinn clears her throat.

"Tired?"

"Not a bit. I was all morning in a sales meeting. Then over to the Waldorf for a quick drink with Jesse St. James, just over from Paris. With some fashion news. Back to the 21 for lunch with the Harper's Bazaar people. That's when I ordered dinner. Then two Fall showings, twenty blocks apart. Then I had to have a cocktail with Kurt Hummel, we're trying to get into his next show." She looks up over her glass at Quinn. "Then I had to dash back and change."

"Tell me, what was Kurt Hummel wearing?" She says with false seriousness.

"He looked breathtaking. He had on mint green." She stated with absolute seriousness. "And to think, I planted three nice items about you in the columns today." She says with a smirk. "You can't buy that kind of publicity."

"That's good news."

"Someday you might want to open up your own studio here." She says now with a less playful manner to her voice.

"How could I run it from say…Istanbul?" She puts her glass down and comes to sit closer to Quinn, a look of concern on her face.

"Quinn, isn't it time you came home? You could pick your assignment."

"I wish there was one I wanted."

"Make the one you want." Quinn's face changes to one of utter disbelief.

"You mean leave the magazine?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

"For yourself." she pauses looking head down looking up at Quinn through her hair. "and me. I could get you a dozen assignments tomorrow. Fashion, Portraits!" Quinn just laughs.

"That's what I'm afraid of. Could you see me, driving down to the fashion salon in a jeep. Wearing combat boots and dirty mussed hair?" She laughs more heartily. Rachel not at all bemused.

"I could see you looking absolutely stunning in a suit and pair of gorgeous matching tailored shoes." No longer wanting to continue on this route.

"Let's not talk any more nonsense, huh?" Rachel stands up and exits to the kitchen.

"I'd better start setting up dinner."

Once alone Quinn turns in her chair towards her window. Taking her newly refilled glass with her. She looks for window to window until her attention is caught by the first floor window. A fuller figured African American woman flits around her apartment. Tending to the scenery. She lights two candles placed elegantly on a lovely set dinner table. She double takes and makes sure everything is in it's right spot. She then check her face in a mirror before making her way to the front door. She starts to talk to the other side of the door, which is just slightly out of Quinn's sight. She gestures for whomever is in the hall to come inside. When she then closes the door and no one has entered Quinn straightens in her seat to get a better look. There is no one but the woman in her room yet she motions for her "guest" to please get comfortable at the dinner table. She takes the invisibles guests hat and leans in for an invisible kiss on the check. The women blushes slightly and bring her hand to meet her cheek. She takes and places the invisible hat on the coat rack and seats herself from her see-through dinner guest. She remains holding a conversation with whomever sits in front of her acting flattered and amused at whatever it is that's being exchanged. Quinn watches now with more apathy than intrigue. When the woman below lifts her wine glass up in a toast Quinn follows suit with a sympathetic smile and meets her in cheers with sip from her own glass. The woman places her glass back down and stares into space before lowing her head to her folded arms and starts to sob silently. Quinn can't help but feel a slight tug at her heart strings and takes another sip from her glass.

"How sad." Rachel says from behind her shaking her from the scene before her. She nods at Rachel's statement.

"Miss Lonely Hearts. At least that's something you'll never have to worry about."

"Oh? You can see my apartment all the way up on 63rd street?"

"Not exactly, but there's an apartment here that's probably about as popular as yours." She points to the blonde dancers balcony. "You, of course, remember Miss Torso?" The usually very empty room is crowded with men and who all seem to be competing for her attention. The blonde leads one out to the banister and he begins to kiss her. Quinn smiles up at Rachel. "Well, she picked the most prosperous looking one."

"She's not in love with him." She sighs eyes still transfixed on the sight of the blonde across the way. "Or any of them."

"How can you tell that from here?" Quinn asks glancing at Rachel and then back to "Miss Torso" as if trying to see something that she'd previously missed.

"You said it resembled my apartment didn't you?" Her eyes filling with hurt before turning to leave for the kitchen again. Music begins to fill the courtyard entering the windows. Rachel comes out once again. "Where's that music coming from?" She's carrying two plates one with lobster, the other with a very extravagant looking vegan salad.

"Some songwriter, I believe his name is Finn. In the studio apartment. Lives alone. Probably has an unhappy marriage. Rachel sets Quinn's plate down on her attached table.

"I think it's enchanting." She sits herself down with her salad and listens to the soft music. "Almost as if it were being written especially for us."

"No wonder he's having so much trouble with it." Quinn adds matter-of-factly. Disappointment shows on Rachel's face but she lets it be and looks back to Quinn.

"Well, at least you can't say the dinner isn't right." Quinn looks up at her.

"Rachel, it's perfect." Quinn looks at her lobster without enthusiasm. "As always." Her look of disappointment and angst returns but she hides it from view.

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><p>-Time passes and dinner is finished. The activity in the other apartments continues to play out. Rachel lays sprawled on Quinn's otherwise vacant bed. A serious conversation well underway between the two as it's written all over either girls face that they are having quiet the battle of wits.<p>

"There can't be that much difference between people and the way they live!" Rachel states shifting her tiny body with frustration. "We all eat, talk, drink, laugh, sleep, wear clothes."

Quinn raises her hands in protest. "Well now, look…" Rachel points her finger accusatory at the blonde.

"If you're saying all this just because you don't want to tell me the truth, because you're hiding something from me, then maybe I can understand."

"There's nothing I'm hiding! It's, it's just that…"

Interrupting again Rachel adds, "It doesn't make sense to me. What's so different about it here from over there, or any place you go, that one person couldn't live in both places just as easily?"

"Some people can. Now if you'll let me explain." Again Rachel interjects.

"What is it but traveling for one place to another, taking pictures? It's just like being a tourist on an endless vacation."

"All right. That's your opinion. You're entitled to it, but…"

"It's ridiculous for you to say that it can only be done by a special, private little group of anointed people."

Quinn starts to shake with desperation to speak her mind. "I made a simple, but true statement and I'll back it up, if you'll just shut up for a minute!"

Rachel sits up just the slightest but, absolutely silent for a split second. "If your opinion is as rude as your manner, I'm not sure I want to hear it."

Quinn again begins to shake. " Rachel, simmer down will ya?" Absolutely repulsed now Rachel speaks again.

"You can't fit in here. I can't fit in there. According to you, people should be born, live and die on the same…""Rachel! Shut up!" Rachel folds her arms and stares off a pout on her lips and a frown on her brown. Quinn waits to make sure Rachel will let her speak. "Did you ever eat fish heads and rice?"

"Of course not!" She unfolds herself again preparing for her battle again.

"You might have to, if you went with me. Ever try to keep warm in a C-54, at fifteen thousand feet, at twenty below zero?"

"Oh, I do that all the time. Whenever I have a few minutes after lunch."

"Ever get shot at, run over, sandbagged at night because people got unfavorable publicity from your camera?" Rachel's becoming increasingly annoyed with Quinn's insistent rant. "Those high heels would be a lot of use in the jungle. And those nylons and six ounce lingerie…"

"Three." Rachel interrupts with correction.

"Well, they'd be very stylish in Finland…just before you froze to death. Begin to get the idea?"

"If there's one thing I know, it's how to wear the proper clothes." Quinn scans over the small girls figure, she can't help but linger. No matter how frustrating she can be Quinn is always amazed at Rachel's perpetual beauty.

"Try and find a raincoat in Brazil. Even when it isn't raining. Rachel, on this job you carry one suitcase. Your home is the available transportation. You sleep rarely, bathe even less, and sometimes the food you can't even look at when it's alive!"

"Quinn, you don't have to be deliberately repulsive just to prove me wrong!"

"If anything, I'm making it sound good. Let's face it Rachel…you aren't made for that kind of a life. Few people are."

Rachel's eyes seems sad and crestfallen, when she realizes her efforts are without cause. "It's impossible to argue with you, you're too stubborn." Quinn shakes her head in disapproval.

"Truthful."

"I know, a lesser woman would have told me it was one long holiday, and I would have awakened to a rude disillusion." Rachel states with thick sarcasm on her tongue.

"Now, it you want to get vicious, I'd be very happy to accommodate you."

"No" She says as if defeated. "I don't particularly want that. So that's it. You won't stay here, and I can't go with her." Her eye locked on Quinn's tears threaten to spill over. Quinn can't help but look at her with a little sadness in her eyes to match.

"It would be the wrong thing." She states blankly.

"You don't think either one of us could ever change?"

"Right now, it doesn't seem so." Rachel gets up off the comfort of the bed and begins pacing around the room gathering up her things.

"I'm in love with you. I don't care what you do for a living. Somehow I would just like to be part of it." She says grabbing her coat from a nearby chair. Quinn still silent just watching her. Her mouth opens as if to say something then reconsiders and remains quiet. "And it's deflating to find out that the only way I can be part of it, is to take out a subscription to your magazine. I guess I'm not the girl I thought I was."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Rachel. You have the world in the palm of your hand."

"Not quite, it seems." She states looking longingly at Quinn. "Goodbye Quinn."

"You mean goodnight." Quinn corrects the shorter girl.

"I mean what I said." Rachel opens the door to leave.

"Rachel!" She shouts looking up at the sound of the door opening. "Can't we just sort of keep things status quo?"

"Without any future?" She says the tears almost visible now. She's standing in the doorway her feet threatening to take off without her.

"When will I see you again."

"Not for a long time. Not, at least until…" She smiles "Tomorrow night." She leaves the room and closes the door. Leaving Quinn alone in the apartment again. She turns her chair around and stares blankly out the window watching her usual show outside. She lights a cigarette and breaths it in letting the smoke calm the nerves Rachel had since stirred up inside her. It's late now, most of the tenants have gone to sleep. Quinn still sits in her empty room just watching the street below and watching the windows as people sleep on the other side of them. Suddenly a shrill scream sound through the complex startling her. She looks around for where it came from, but when nothing else follows the sudden out burst she lets herself calm again and sink back into her chair. She falls asleep.

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><p><strong>Thanks again for reading guys. Oh BTW, I'm still writing my own original Faberry story...not a parody on anything else. So while I continue work on that I'm hoping this is keeping you as entertained as it is me. NEXT CHAPTER STARTS ALL THE SUSPENSE!<br>**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok so chapter 3 is a bit short, just some story not a lot of dialogue. I'll be posting chapter 4 tonight as well. Just thought I'd get this one out of the way. Keep reading and keep letting me know what you think.  
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><p>It's somewhere after midnight and it's started to rain heavily, but the heat is still very much as present as before. Quinn wakes to the sound of the rain hitting the pavement below. She sleepily glances around the complex. Watching with amusement as the couple on their fire escape haphazardly try to grab their belongings while trying to maintain some form of dryness. The small Asian woman yells at her husband while making her way through the open window to their apartment. The man trying to enter, as well hold his end of the mattress, falls in through the opening, feet over his head. Quinn can't help but laugh at the sight. Something else catches her eye. The salesman who had been arguing with his wife earlier that morning was exiting his apartment. Carrying one of his large aluminum samples cases. Quinn watches as he reappears at the visible street corner, crossing and then vanishing from sight. Quinn takes a look at the humble watch around her slender wrist. Ten till two. Time passes as she watches anxiously. Finally the salesman returns holding the same case. 2:35. Where have you been, she asks herself. The Salesman enters his apartment, but she can't see the contents due to the fact that the shades have been pulled shut. A light catches her attention, it's coming from the musicians apartment. The tall man stumbles into his room. Clearly drunk and once again frustrated he viciously swipes all his sheet music from his piano. Sending the pages dancing through the air. He loses his footing and collapses backwards into the nearby armchair, where he stays hand resting over his eyes. Assuming she may be awake awhile due to all the theories forming in her wild imagination, Quinn reaches for a nearly empty bottle of whiskey she keeps under her desk. Pouring herself and generous glass, she sets in near the windows again. In mid swig her eyes grow large with suspicion as once again the salesman is exiting his apartment with his suitcase. She watches as he follows the same path he'd taken only a few short moments ago.<p>

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><p>Quinn stirs from a drowsy state, she'd began to doze off again. She looks around the courtyard, the musician has gone to sleep, but still no sign of the salesman. Another light in the neighborhood flicks on. None other than Miss Torso appears in her small space. Home from a date no doubt. She's half way in her door as she's pushing someone on the other side to leave. Quinn watches as she tries to coax the relentless suitor on the other side. A distant yet firm "Goodnight" is heard from the tall woman's mouth. Finally getting her door closed she locks it and presses her ear to the wood, listening for the footsteps to leave. She then makes her way through the contents of her refrigerator, finding a late snack. Torso begins to undress herself discarding clothes as she makes her way languidly to the shower. Quinn shifts in her chair at the nearly naked woman before her. Her eyes then dart to the street corner and she catches a glimpse of the salesman, trudging his way back to the front of the building. She sees him sulking down the hallway, then disappear into his apartment once more. All lights in the buildings remain off, all except the salesman's. She falls asleep again.<p>

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><p>Morning light shines in, bathing Quinn in sunshine. She springs from her resting position, quickly surveying the lives splayed before her eyes. She internally smacks herself for having fallen asleep. Miss Torso is now up and atom, dancing and gyrating as per usual. The woman's ballet music booming through her open patio door. The music man, now alert and sobered is back at his piano. Trying desperately to find the right notes. The woman from the fire escape is back at her post. This time lowering a small dog in a basket to the yard below. Quinn lets a quick smile grace her face before the sound of her front door opening breaks her from her morning ritual.<p>

"You'd think the rain would have cooled things off. All it did was make the heat wet." Santana says as she hurriedly helps Quinn out of her chair and off with her soiled night shirt. She begins to start her own morning rituals for Quinn by applying the right amount of oil to rub out the knots created from sleeping upright all night. She hit's a sore muscle causing Quinn to jump a little.

"Ahhhh, that's a stiff one!"

"The insurance company would be a lot happier if you slept in your bed, not the wheelchair."

"How did you know?" Quinn asked through clenched teeth, her tender muscles becoming more than she can take.

"Your eyes are bloodshot Fabray. Must have been staring out those windows for hours!"

"I was."

"What'll you do if one of them ever catches you?" Santana digs into Quinn's back just a tad deeper.

"Depends on which one." She says with a little spite. Santana stops massaging momentarily to grab more oils. "Now Miss Torso, for example." Santana hits her back with a palmful of the cold oil. Causing Quinn to wince.

"Keep your mind off her." Santana says with more of a warning tone than a request. Quinn may have thought more into it had her mind still not been preoccupied with the Salesman.

"She's a real eat, drink and be merry kind of girl." Snapping back to the conversation.

"And she'll end up a fat, alcoholic and miserable." She says with a hit of sadness and hurt behind her words.

"Hmmm, speaking of misery. Miss Lonely Hearts drank herself to sleep again. Alone." Santana only barely listening at this point. Her mind wandering in other direction of their own.

"Isn't there anyone in the neighborhood who might be interested?"

"Well, the salesman could be available soon." Santana now full attention at the sound of scandal.

"He and his wife splitting up?"

"It's hard to say. He went out several times last night. In the rain, carrying his sample case."

"Well, he is a salesman…"

"Now what could he sell at three in the morning?" Santana just shrugs.

"Flashlights? Luminous dials for watches? House numbers that light up." She chuckles to herself. Always being one to find her jokes funnier than most others.

"He was taking something out of the apartment. I'm certain!" Santana helps Quinn back to her chair and to get on some fresh pajamas.

"His stuff. He's probably running away. The Coward!"

"Sometimes it's worse to stay than it is to run." She says looking up at Santana. Santana not breaking her stare at Quinn in the least.

"But, it takes a particularly low type of person to that to someone else!" She starts packing up her supplies trying to cool her jets a little, by focusing on something else. "What about this morning? Any developments?"

"No. The shades are still drawn in their apartment." Quinn says with a sigh.

"In this heat?" She comes to join Quinn by the window now just as curious, looking over her shoulder across the yard. "Well their up now!" Quinn scurries quickly around, in a rush to see. Nearly pushing Santana on her way to turn. The salesman is up and opening the shades to the living room. He leans out the window looking around the courtyard. Watching his neighbors in a very Quinn-esque manner. His eyes slowing start to move closer to Quinn's apartment. Again Quinn almost knocking Santana off her feet.

"Get back! Out of sight! Quick!" She propels her chair backward out of the light of the sun. Both women now in the shadow of the apartment. Watching while holding their breaths.

"What's is it?" She asks whispering. "What's the matter?"

"The salesman's looking out his window." She answers eyes to fixed. Santana relaxes, and gives Quinn an almost disgusted look. She leaves the security of the shadows.

"A federal offence, I'm sure."

"Get back here! He'll see you!" Santana sighs but returns to Quinn's side. Not wanting to get the girl too worked up.

"I'm not shy. I've been looked at before."

"It's not an ordinary look. It's the kind of look a man gives when he's afraid somebody might be watching him."

"Ha, somebody is watching him." Quinn not amused just shoots Santana a small glare before refocusing her steady stair. The Salesman starts too lean from his window looking down to the yard. Quinn places an arm out to steady Santana in her place. She wheels herself forward steadily. Both are now watching the same scene unfold. The small dog from upstairs is rooting around in the mans flower beds. The round woman from next door leans over the separating fence and is shooing the dog back mumbling something along the lines of "He'll get you into trouble." The tiny dog rushes into the hallway taking heed. Santana having had enough of the display collects up her things, as Quinn is still glued to the window.

"Goodbye, Ms. Fabray. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Uh-huh." Quinn leans further to get a better view of the salesman's apartment. He's carefully wiping clean the inside lining of his aluminum case with a dust cloth. Santana still gathering her supplies.

"And don't sleep in the chair again!"

"Uh-huh." Santana grabs her loaded bag and gives Quinn a long hard stare before heading to the door.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Great conversationalist." She shakes her head at the blonde. Quinn spins around in her chair just as Santana reaches the top of the front steps.

"Santana." She turns hand on the knob. Quinn points to the coat rack next to the door. "Will you take those binoculars out of the case and bring them to me." She puts down her bag and grabs the binoculars, taking them out of their protective case. Coming down the stairs still shaking her head. She thrusts them into the other woman's hand. Quinn immediately lifts them to her eyes, and turns back to the window.

"Trouble. I can smell it. I'll be glad when they crack that cast, and I get out of here." Santana leaves without so much as a goodbye from Quinn.

The Salesman had finished cleaning out his case and refilled it with his wears. Shiny looking rows of jewelry. He makes his way back to his window looking into Quinn's direction. She lowers the binoculars out of view and slowly moves out of sight to the shadows before she cautiously lifts them again. Quinn watches closely as the man makes his way to his small kitchen. He grabs a newspaper and starts to wrap something inside them. She can't see well enough through the bifocals. Getting flustered she starts to dig around in a cabinet before she finds what she's looking for. Moving back to the window Quinn holds up a telephoto lens attached to a small camera, she can clearly see that he's wrapping up a rather large butcher knife and a hand saw. Her heart starts to race as her suspicious wonders are starting to come together. Not knowing whether she's pleased with herself for being so astute or terrified that she's probably right in a few of her more sinister assumptions. The salesman makes his way to the couch in the living room and disappears from Quinn's view.

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><p><strong>Hope ya liked it. Next chapter Rachel will return :)<br>**


	4. Chapter 4

**K...here's chapter 4. Done for the night. My eyes are starting to blur and burn a little. I think I might be giving myself early onset arthritis. Anyway, enjoy.**

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><p>Still sweltering hot outside everyone's windows remain open. The music man dressed in only boxers and a tank, sweeps his floor. He stops briefly to play a few keys on his piano. He ashes his smoke and goes back to the sweeping. The Fire escape couple sit bathing in the night air, the wife lowing her basket once again, calling to her little dog to return home. He hops in his ride and waits to jump into her arms. The window of the newly weds are still drawn shut. The salesman's shades are also still drawn. The lights are on but no sign of him. Miss Torso lays sprawled on her bed kicking her feet in the air, combing out her long blonde hair, her thoughts seeming else where. The round women creates some form of sculpture in her backyard. Covered to her elbows in plaster. The newly weds window still has the shades drawn, no doubt of what has been and is still going on inside.<p>

Inside Quinn's apartment the lights are off, only lit from the courtyard lamps. Quinn's sitting in her chair as usual, only this time it's occupied by Rachel as well. Rachel sits with her small arms wrapped around Quinn's neck. Placing soft kisses on her temple. She buries her face in the crook of Quinn's neck, letting her lips brush against her warm skin as she speaks.

"How far does a girl have to go, before you notice her?"

"If she's pretty enough, she doesn't have to go anywhere. She just has to 'be'."

"Well…" Rachel starts as she runs her hand down the length of her own body. "…aren't I? Pay attention to me!" She smiles trying to seduce the blonde. She places an equally as seductive kiss on Quinn's jaw line.

"I'm not exactly on the other side of the room am I?"

"Your mind is. And when I want someone, I want all of them." Tired on kissing flesh that can't kiss back Rachel moves in for the kill, Quinn obliges.

"Don't you ever have any problems?"

"I have one now." Rachel murmurs muffled through kisses.

"So do I."

"Tell me about it." Still muffled.

"Why would a man leave his apartment three times, on a rainy night, with a suitcase? And come back three times?"

"Perhaps, he likes the way his WIFE, welcomes him home."

"Not that salesman's wife. And why didn't he go to work today?"

"Homework, it's more interesting."

"What's interesting about a butcher's knife and a small saw wrapped up in newspaper?"

"Nothing. Thank heaven." Quinn places her attention at the salesman's room, taking her focus off Rachel, which the tiny girl is none to fond of.

"Why hasn't he gone into his wife's bedroom all day?"

"I wouldn't dare answer that." Quinn is quiet a moment. She's got her usual lost stare that she gets when she's thinking, or scheming.

"Rachel. There's something terribly wrong."

Sitting up now, realizing her session of kisses is over. "I'm afraid it's with me." Rachel gets up off Quinn's lap and straightens out her short cocktail dress. She makes her way over to the bed and stretches herself out trying to show how much disinterest she has in Quinn's topic of choice.

"What do you think?"

Rachel remains staring into space, avoiding Quinn's looks. "Something too frightful to utter." Quinn becomes thoughtful for a moment. Then relaxes and smiles a little. Rachel stretches again sensing she may have collected Quinn's attention again. She naturally falls into an attractive pose on the bed. When she looks to Quinn she's once again disappointed to find her staring out her window. Her shoulders fall.

"He went out a few minutes ago, in his undershirt. And he hasn't come back yet." She lets her gaze wander a little to the apartment next door. Miss Torso is laying on her stomach on her bed, reading a book and eating. She's wearing only a pair of short dance shorts. You'd think in such a small area with windows as large as they are, she'd wear more clothing. Not the Torso, though…she's not a shy one. Quinn's come to learn quickly. She lifts her bare top half up momentarily brushing some crumbs out from under her. Quinn looks away. "You know, that would be a terrible job to tackle." Rachel follows Quinn's eyes to see what she's referring to. She looks back from the dancer to Quinn with a blank stare on her face. Quinn completely unaware of Rachel's surprise at her comment. "How would you begin to cut up a human body?"

At that Rachel sits bolt upright. She turns on the light nearest her at an arms length. Rachel just stares at Quinn as if she has two heads.

"Quinn, I'll be honest with you. You're beginning to scare me a little." Quinn refocuses out the window. "Quinn! Did you hear what I said? You're beginning to scare…" Quinn cuts her off with a hand to silence her.

"Be quiet! Shhhh. He's coming back." The salesman makes his way down the corridor to his front door. A long rope slung over his shoulder. They watch as he goes through the living room to the bedroom. He leaves the light off. Quinn grabs her binoculars and tries to see what she can across the way. The salesman pops out momentarily to grab a knife from the kitchen then goes back into the darkened bedroom. Quinn begins to breath funny. Causing Rachel to look at her in disbelief over her reaction to this whole thing. The light behind the shade turns on and she sees the man's silhouette move in the light. Rachel can't take this anymore. She wants what she came for. And watching Quinn gawk at the neighbors was not what she had in mind. She quickly gets off the bed, grabbing Quinn's chair and spinning it around. Pinning her hands on either side of the stuck girl. Bending to be sure to be right at eye level.

"Quinn if you could only see yourself." She says maybe a little sharper that she had initially intended.

"Now Rachel…"

"Sitting around, looking out a window to kill time is one thing…but doing it the way you are. With…with binoculars, and with wild opinions about every little movement you see. It's…it's diseased!"

"Do you think I consider this recreation?" Rachel takes a deep bitter breath of air.

"I don't know what you consider it. But if you don't stop it, I'm getting out of here."

"You'd better, before you catch the disease!"

Rachel shakes her head in frustration and some much hidden hurt. "What is it you're looking for?" She shouts.

"I want to find out what's wrong with the salesman's wife! Does that make me sound crazy?"

"What makes you think something's wrong with her?" She's fishing now for reasons to stay in the room. It hurts to know she's trying so hard for Quinn's affection and getting wild stories of neighbors making late night sales trips.

"A lot of things. She's an invalid who needs constant care. And yet the husband…nor anyone else has been in there all day."

"Maybe she died." She tosses her hands in the air in defeat. Wishing she wanted to go as much as she wanted to stay.

"Where's the doctor? The undertakers?"

"She could be under sedatives, sleeping!" Rachel looks out at the apartment. "Look he's in the room now." Quinn tries to turn and see for herself, but Rachel holds tighter still.

"Rachel, please!"

"There's nothing to see!"

"There is, I've seen things through that window. Bickering, family fights, mysterious trips at night. Knives, saws, rope…and since last night, not a sight or sound from his wife. Now you tell me where she is and what she's doing." Oh that's the breaking point in Rachel's mind, Quinn is in for full on meltdown Rachel rant now!

"Maybe he's leaving his wife! I don't know, and I don't care. Lots of people have saws, knives, and ropes around their houses. Lots of men don't speak to their wives all day. Lots of wives nag, and men hate them, and trouble starts. But very, very, VERY few of them end up in murder…if that's what you're thinking!"

"It's pretty hard to stay away from that word isn't it?"

"You could see all the things he did, couldn't you?"

"What are you getting at?"

"You could see what he did because he had the shades in his apartment up, and walked along the corridor, and the street and the backyard?"

"Yeah…"

"Quinn, do you think a murderer would let you see all that? That he shouldn't keep his shades down and hide behind them?"

"That's where he's being clever! Acting nonchalant!"

"And that's where you're not being clever. He wouldn't parade his crime in front of the open window." She turns the chair facing Quinn to the window of the newlyweds room. "For all you know, there's something a lot more sinister going on behind those shades."

Quinn just smirks and suppresses a giggle. "No comment."

"Don't you see how silly you're being?"

"Okay, Rachel. You're probably right. He's probably in the bedroom now, entertaining his wife with the Indian rope trick. I'll admit to criminal insanity. Now when do I start the cure?" Rachel smiles in her triumph. She looks up to the window about to open her mouth to answer, when a completely new look takes over her features. Concern, mixes with shock and maybe a little fear riddles her expressions now. Quinn see's the change and is sobered. She turns around fast to see happening, not before grabbing her binoculars. The salesman's shades are all up now. The beds are both empty and stripped of all the sheets. The mattresses are rolled and up over the end of the beds. The salesman looks sweaty and exhausted, he's standing next to a large trunk placed in the center of the room. It's tied in the rope he'd brought up earlier. He wipes his forehead with his arm and exit's the room. He enters the kitchen grabbing a bottle and a shot glass. He throws back several then leans against the fridge for some extra stability. Quinn lowers her binoculars and looks paler than possible. Rachel still watching with her mouth agape. She puts her hand on the back of Quinn's chair also for some stability.

"Let's start from the beginning again, Quinn. Tell me everything you saw, and what you think it means."

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it. More up tomorrow night!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Here it is chapter 5. I'm already working on chapter 6 right now, so that should be up in a few hours. Hope you guys like it! NosyPosy you'll be able to watch the rest of the movie soon! haha ;p  
><strong>

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><p>Quinn sat in the dark of her room, the only light coming from the courtyard. She's staring out the window tensely. The windows all around her are dark, everyone appears to be sleeping. Suddenly from the Salesman's apartment a match is lit, after the flame dies she can see the tip of the cigarette ignite with each puff. Her hand rests pensively on the receiver of her phone, her fingers tapping nervously in anticipation. It rings once and doesn't get the chance to ring again before she's got it to her ear.<p>

"Yeah?" She says in a low whisper.

Rachel stands at a payphone near the front of Quinn's building.

"The name on the second floor rear mailbox reads Mr. and Mrs. William Schuester."

"What's the apartment house number?"

"125 West Ninth Street."

Quinn looks up to the adjacent window, with a look the shouts _I've got you now_.

"Thanks, Rach." Rachel's face lights up with pride.

"Okay, chief. What's my next assignment?" Quinn smiles smugly at the sound of Rachel's playful voice.

"…to get on home."

"All right, but what's he doing now?"

"Just sitting in the living room. In the dark. And he hasn't gone near the bedroom. Now get some sleep. Goodnight." Quinn places the phone back on the hook. Completely missing Rachel's almost silent goodnight. Rachel closes her eyes in hearing the line go dead against her ear. She places the phone back and walks silently home trying to keep her eyes from dropping big salty tears in the hot breeze blowing passed her.

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><p>The next morning Quinn's up early, Santana already there and making her breakfast. She's on the phone again a ringing sound of urgency in her tone.<p>

"Look Puckerman, it's just one of those things I can't tell you on the phone! You have to be here, and see the set-up." Santana comes from the kitchen with a fully loaded plate of eggs and bacon with a side of toast, and a piping hot cut of coffee. Black, just how Quinn likes it. "It's probably nothing important, just a little neighborhood Murder. That's all. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did say 'Murder'."

Santana squeezes past Quinn and places the plate down in front of the girl hoping it will wake her from this daze she's in staring out the window, practically foaming at the mouth, while spewing her harebrain ideas.

"My only thought was to throw a little business your way. A good detective, I reasoned, would jump at the chance to detect!" Her tone growing increasingly sarcastic, and a little agitated. Santana tries to hear the muffled sounds of 'Puckerman's' responses coming in quietly. "Well, I usually took my best pictures on my day off. Okay Puckerman, soon as you can!" She hangs up forcefully.

"Santana, I…I can't tell you what a welcome sight this is." She gestures to the plate of breakfast. "No wonder your mystery man is so in love with you." Santana's face turns down behind Quinn with a look of almost disgust.

"Police Quinn?" Quinn looks up at her while cutting into her eggs.

"Huh?"

"You called the police?"

"Oh. Well, yes and no. It wasn't an official call. He's just a friend. An old, ornery friend." She begins to shovel food into her mouth. Looking as though she's never eaten before in her life. _Mmmmm Bacon!_ Her eyes bulging at the sheer joy at the sight of the perfection that is Santana's bacon. Santana takes her place at the side of the blondes chair. Quinn finally picking of her first piece of sizzled beauty just as she's bringing it to her lips…

"Now just where do you suppose he cut her up?" Quinn's hand stops dead in it's tracks. "Oh, of course! In the bathtub. That's the only place he could wash away the blood."

Looking completely repulsed at Santana's words. Her glorious bacon looking a lot less appealing. She sighs and returns it to her plate. Heart sinking a little. She stares blankly out the window. Santana walks back into the kitchen. She pushes her food away, now severely lacking appetite. Coffee, yes, there's still coffee, she muses. She takes a sip and watches the scenery as usual.

Schuester's apartment is completely open in the way of windows. No one is moving however. The tied up trunk still sits in the empty bedroom. To her left she sees the woman lowering the basket dog again. A woman on a roof apartment sits in a chair sunbathing, rubbing tanning oil on her already crisp skin. Distractedly Quinn's hand grazes towards her bacon. She picks it up. Back in Schuester's apartment he's now in the living room, lying out of sight on the sofa smoking. The smoke slowly rising and pouring out the window. Santana comes back out and stands beside her. She takes a piece of Quinn's toast, savoring small bites.

"He'd better get that trunk out of there before it starts to leak." She uses the toast piece to point out the window with her statement. Quinn roles her eyes…yup completely without appetite now.

Miss Torso is in a ballet outfit. She's hanging some wet clothes on a line out the window. Most of it being lingerie. She's doing her inevitable legs rotations at the same time. Quinn catches Santana watching the display as well. Her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Santana only ever bad mouth's the Torso. She shrugs it off. Quinn's now getting rather listless and bored. Nothing's happening around her. Her eyes roam to the newly weds window. Shades still down. Business as usual. She springs a half smile still a little less then amused with the lack of action. Something then startles her. The shade to the newly weds is going up. The young husband leans his hands on the windowsill, and looks out with a stretch. He's only in his pajama bottoms seeing as it's still blistering. He's well chiseled, very nicely built, and a decently attractive man. Quinn finds herself wondering why that does absolutely nothing for her…her thoughts then getting a little lost at the thought of Rachel's sculpted lady abs and smooth tones legs. _Oh yeah…that's why. _

The young man turns in towards the sound of his wife's voice calling his name lazily. He takes one last glance out the open window as if it will be his last, then returns closing the shade as he disappears. She chuckles quietly. Santana's voice breaking her thought abruptly, the Latina's voice sounding urgent.

"Look! Look Ms. Fabray!"

Her head snaps toward the center window. Santana just behind her. Their expressions mimicking one another. Two men wearing coveralls are standing outside Schuester's door holding a clipboard. Schuester pulls himself off the couch looking a little unkempt. He then leads the two men to the back bedroom. Quinn feels around blindly for her binoculars, not wanting to avert her eyes. She watches and the men exchange conversation, then hoist the large trunk onto a dolly and remove it from the apartment.

"I thought Puckerman would get here before the trunk went or I'd have called the police." She discards the bifocals. "Now we're going to lose it." Santana heads to the door quickly. Quinn turning to watch her. "Santana, don't do anything reckless!" She's already out the door but calls back to Quinn.

"I'm just going to get the name off their truck!"

"I'll watch the alleyway, in case it's going that way."

She gathers up her binoculars again. Concentrating on the alley that leads to the street. Nothing but normal traffic. She swings her glance back to Schuester's, he's on the phone. She focuses the lenses and can see that the number he's dialing is long distance. The freight truck drives passed the alley before Quinn can catch a company name. All she can make out is "Freight lines". Santana comes into view completely winded and out of breath. She looks up towards Schuester's apartment then to Quinn, her arms outspread in a helpless gesture, shaking her head with disappointment.

_Damn..._

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><p>Some time later Quinn's back to focusing her attention inside her own apartment. She's indulging in a drink with her oldest friend Noah Puckerman.<p>

"You didn't see the killing, or the body? How do you know there was a murder?" The tall muscular man asks before taking a long gulp from his glass.

"Because, everything that man's done has been suspicious! Trips at night in the rain, saws, knives, trunks with rope, and a wife that isn't there anymore."

"I'll admit it all has a mysterious sound, but it could mean a number of different things. Murder, is the least likely." He smirks at the girl before him. Her frantic and frustrated state becoming increasingly endearing to him.

"Go ahead Puck, tell me he's an unemployed magician amusing the neighborhood with sleight-of-hand." She rolls her eyes, displaying her annoyance at the mans disbelief.

Puckerman paces a little turning his back to the blonde not wanting her to catch his extremely amused smile.

"It's too stupid and obvious a way to murder. In full view of fifty windows? And then sit over there." He points out the window languidly. "Smoking a cigar, waiting for the police to pick him up." He shakes his head at the vanity of the idea.

"Well, officer…do your duty!"

"You've got a lot to learn about homicide, Quinn. Morons have committed murder so shrewdly that it took a hundred trained police minds to catch them. That salesman wouldn't just knock off his wife after dinner, toss her in a trunk and put her in storage." He says with humor on his tongue.

"I'll bet it's been done."

"Almost everything's been done. Under panic!" He points out as if obvious. "But this is a thousand to one shot. That man's still sitting around his apartment; he isn't panicked." Quinn looks down at her wringing hands.

"You think I made all this up?" She asks quietly.

"I think you saw something, that probably has a very simple explanation."

"For instance?" She asks, as Puck shrugs.

"His wife took a trip."

Now completely unconvinced she yells, "She. Was. An. Invalid!"

"You told me." He looks down at his watch. "I've gotta run Q."

"All right. You don't believe me!"

Puck saunters toward the steps, picking up his previously discarded hat. Then stops just shy of the door.

"I, uh, won't report it to the department. Let me poke into in a little on my own. No point in you getting any ridiculous publicity."

"Thanks." She offers up coldly.

"We know the wife is gone. I'll see if I can find out where."

"Do that." She's being purposely short with him, she knows he has a soft spot for her given their rarely mentioned history. So she knows just how to work him into giving her what she wants. And being blunt and short with him…really gets under his otherwise thick skin. Puck places his hat atop his head, then pauses again with his hand on the doorknob.

"Have you had any headaches lately?" He asks with some form of genuine concern.

"Not 'til you showed up."

"Uh huh. Well, it'll wear off in time. Along with the hallucinations. See you around." With that he exits. Then just as quickly pokes his head back into the room. "By the way. What happened to your leg?"

"I was jaywalking."

"Where?"

"The Indianapolis Speedway." She answer nonchalantly. He starts to close the door again with a hmmm, then…

"During the race?"

Quinn smirks.

"Yup. It sure stopped traffic." She answers trying to keep a straight face. The door shuts without response. She laughs to herself. She'd always love that man, no matter how hard headed and a little dim he could sometimes be.

Quinn's attention is back to the yards below. The little dog is scratching at Schuester's flower bed. She smiles mischievously at the little mutt, but it quickly changes to concern as she notices Schuester coming out from the basement door carrying a watering can. He hasn't yet noticed the dog. He fills up the can and turns towards his flowers. Stopping abruptly at the sight of the dogs destructive behavior. Quinn's mind reels as she contemplates what the reaction will be. He walks to the dog and gently lifts him out of the garden, giving him a friendly pat and shoos him away. He proceeds to patiently brush the dirt back into the bed, and begins watering.

Quinn's honestly slightly puzzled by Will's friendly attitude towards the dog. She looks off in the other direction, catching Puck as he makes his way to the alley. He's staring up at the front side of Schuester's building. Just as soon as he appeared, he's gone towards the salesman's house.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading guys! More reviews mean quicker updates...I'm a sucker for feedback, good and bad...all critiques are welcome!<br>**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here ya go. Sorry it took a little longer than I thought...I just kept writing. Hope ya guys like it. **

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><p>Back in Quinn's apartment later the same day, she's again having a drink with Puck. He's returned with some news of his findings. He's nonchalantly leaning up against the bookshelves lining Quinn's walls. Quinn's babysitting her highball, not really in the mood for an alcohol induced slumber later. Not when there's so much left to do.<p>

Puck starts resiting his findings from a pad he removed from his coat pocket.

"He has a six month lease, and has used up a little over five and a half months of it."He pauses taking a good amount of the bitter drink from his glass. "Quiet. Drinks, but not to drunkenness. Pays his bills promptly, with money earned as a costume jewelry salesman, wholesale. Keeps to himself, and none of the neighbors got close to him."

He stares in his cup as if looking for more answers for Quinn's unconvinced glare. "Or his wife." He adds with a little bite.

"I think they missed their chance with her." Quinn states, finally taking the smallest sip of her drink.

"She never left the apartment…" Puck starts.

"Then where is she…in the ice box?" She interrupts him. Tired of these excuses. Her minds already made up.

"…Until yesterday morning." He continues, interrupting her right back to prove a point.

"What time?" She sits up, attention now fully on Puck.

"Six A.M."

Quinn looks thoughtful for a moment. Then adds with a discouraging touch.

"I think that's about the time I fell asleep."

"Too bad. The Schuester's were just leaving their apartment at that time." He sets down his drink and strolls toward the window. "Feel a little foolish?"

"Not yet."

Puck becomes interested in watching something from the window. He unconsciously smoothes out his coat and tie. He smiles secretly to himself at what he sees.

Well…secretly he thought.

Quinn's noticed to whole boorish event as she sees what he's leering at. She's followed his line of vision to none other than Miss Torso. Back at her usual game. She's on her balcony now.

Quinn will admit that the blonde has some sort of allure and draw to herself. However she decides to poke at the man regardless.

"How's your wife, Puck?"

Startled that he's being watched. Puck moves away from the window, and the dancing girl.

Trying to front that's he's not affected in the least. Puck returns to his drink. Quinn smiles at her victory in making him feel ridiculous for being caught.

"Oh, oh…Lauren. She's fine." He clears his throat. "Just fine."

He tosses back the rest of his drink, his movements answering all of Quinn's mischievous assumptions. Her face transforming from amused to serious.

"Who said the left then?" She inquires.

"Who left, where?"

"The Schuester's, at six in the morning?" She says as if it's the most obvious thing ever.

Puck quickly collects his thoughts, and returns to the topic at hand.

"The building superintendent, and two tenants. Flat statements, no hesitation. And the all jibed to the letter. The Schuester's were leaving for the railroad station."

"Now how could anybody guess that? They had, perhaps, signs on their luggage, "Grand Central or Bust!"?" She mocks.

Puck sighs, there's never any convincing with this girl. "The superintendent met Schuester coming back. He said Schuester told him he had just put his wife on the train for the country."

"A very convenient guy, this superintendent. Have you checked his bank deposits lately?" She states implying maybe a bribe having taken place.

"Quinn, huh?"

"Well, what good is his information? It's a second-hand version of an unsupported statement by the murderer himself, Schuester! Anybody actually see the wife get on the train?" Quinn rattles off hastily.

"I hate to remind you, but this all started because you said she was murdered. Now did anyone, including you, actually see her murdered?"

"Puck, are you interested in solving a case, or in making me look stupid?"

"If possible…" He smiles. "…both."

"Well then do a good job of it! Get over there, and search Schuester's apartment! It must be knee-deep in evidence."

"I can't do that." He states with fervor.

"I mean when he goes out for a paper, or a drink, or something. What he doesn't know won't hurt him." Quinn protests with a wave of her hand as if it's the simplest of requests.

Shaking his head. "I can't do it even if he's gone."

"What's the matter? Does he have a courtesy card from the police department?" She says thick with sarcasm.

Now he's completely frustrated beyond words.

"Now don't get me mad! Even a detective can't walk in to anybody's apartment and search it. If I were ever caught in there, I'd lose my badge inside of ten minutes!"

"Just make sure you're not caught. If you find something, you've got a murderer and nobody will care about a couple house rules. If you find nothing, he's clear."

"At the risk of sounding stuffy, Quinn I'll remind you of the Constitution, and the phrase 'search warrant' issued by a judge who knows the Bill of Rights verbatim. He must ask for evidence."

"Give him evidence." She says pointedly.

"I can hear myself starting out. 'Your Honor, I have a friend who's an amateur sleuth, and one night, after a heavy supper…" He shakes his head. "He'd throw the New York State Penal Code right in my face. And it's six volumes!"

"By morning there might not be anything left to find in his apartment."

Puck makes his way back over to the window, looking long and hard at William's apartment. "A detective's nightmare."

"What do you need before you can search, bloody footsteps leading up to the door?" She mimics footsteps with her fingers on her cast. Making light of the absurdity that Puck's insinuating there is nothing he can do.

"One thing I don't need is heckling! You called and asked me for help, and now you're acting like a taxpayer!"

He turns to look Quinn in the eyes. "How did we ever stand each other in that same house for three years?" He asks.

"You know, everyday for three years I asked myself that same question."

"Ever get an answer?"

"Yeah, frequently, it ran something like this: "Your request for marriage annulment is denied."

Quinn can't help but show a light hearted smile at her statement, neither can Puck.

Their brief marriage not something they generally talked about. It wasn't as though they hated each other when it ended. But it started when they were young and Quinn was pregnant…it just seemed like the right thing to do. After her miscarriage they soon realized that 'Love' certainly wasn't a part of their drunken stupor that lead to a pregnancy in the first place. They parted ways but still share a mutual love for one another, as very close friends.

"Sorry. I had to turn it down. You know me, I'd rather admit defeat than pretend it never happened in the first place." He placed a gentle hand on the top of her head, smoothing out her hair. "I'm going over to the railroad station and check Schuester's story."

He picks up his hat and makes his way to the door.

"Forget the story, find the trunk. Mrs. Schuester's in it!" Quinn barks, snapping alert from Pucks gentle gesture.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket.

Quinn eyeballing it the whole time. Anticipation riddled all over her face.

"There was a postcard in Schuester's mailbox." Looking down at the sheet of paper. "Mailed yesterday afternoon, three thirty P.M. from Merritsville."

He looks up at Quinn, whose still bug eyed and anxious. "That's eighty miles north of here." He adds. "The message reads: ' Arrived OK. Already feeling better. Love, Emma."

He looks at Quinn with some smugness.

"Is…is Emma, who I think it is?" Quinn asks, Puck nods.

"Mrs. Schuester." He puts his hat on, and grabs the handle. "Anything you need?" Quinn just glares at him.

"Yeah, a good detective!" she shouts as he exit's the room.

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><p>It's just after sunset, Quinn's sitting looking completely bored.<p>

The room is rather dim aside from a light in the kitchen. A not-too-appetizing sandwich sits on her side table. She eats it unenthusiastically, while stealing glances out the window.

William's apartment is dark, as usual. The little dog being lowered again. This becoming a nightly occurrence.

Miss Lonely Heart's sitting in her apartment wearing a Kelly Green suit, she is applying makeup in her vanity mirror. Quinn picks up her camera, with the same telephoto lens. She focuses in on the woman.

She's wearing a pair of ill-fitted horned rimmed glasses using them to better her view as she applies the final touches to her lipstick. Then removing them, clearly satisfied with what she sees. She's relatively attractive, but lacking in style taste, and her hair is making her look older than she is. She reaches for a tall glass of liquor next to her, and takes a large swig. She grabs her handbag, and makes her way to leave to room. But not before checking her face and hair one final time.

Quinn watches as she exits making her way across the ally to a tiny diner across the way. She can see her in the window sitting by herself at a table, going over the menu.

The Songwriter is at his piano, playing his finally composed melody. Slowly, as if to get each note played out right. He's dressed to the nines, tie and all. A young attractive girl is preparing the room with appetizers and glasses. Tray's filled with different alcohol selections. She stops before making her way back into the kitchen. She listens to the song, her expression showing she approves of it's outcome.

She swishes her hips to the sound before swaying in Finn's direction to place a kiss on his cheek. His playing becomes more brave and sure of itself.

A new song starts to play and Quinn finds the source.

Miss Torso and a man whom she's never seen around before are practicing a dance. He's got long flowing blonde hair, very graceful… graceful beyond normal masculine capacity. They stop a second as another woman in the room speaks to them. She's probably an instructor of sorts.

Quinn quickly rules out that this man is of any "love" interest to the Torso. He's clearly batting on the other side of the fence.

Quinn takes another glance at the diner, finding Miss Lonely Hearts talking a waiter. Her camera lens becomes obstructed by a figure. As she zooms out it becomes clearer…Schuester.

He leaves sight behind the building, reappearing in the hallway of the apartment complex.

She watches closely at his every move. He's carrying a dry cleaning bag, as he makes his way through the house into the back bedroom. When the lights switch on, Quinn can see there are several more just like it laid out on the bed. He goes to the dresser and proceeds to empty the drawers into piles on the bed. Quinn's suspicion resurfaces.

She puts her camera down in trade for the phone.

"Hello." A woman's voice sounds on the other end.

"Lauren?"

"Yes."

"It's Quinn again. Has Puck come in yet?"

"Not yet, Quinn." The woman sounding slightly amused at Quinn's hurried tone.

"You haven't heard from him?"

"Not a word." Quinn starts to look desperate. She's not sure what to say. "Is it something really important Quinn?"

"I'm afraid it is, Lauren."

"I'll have him call the moment I hear from him."

"Tell him not to waste time calling. To get over here soon as he can! I think Schuester's pulling out tonight."

"Who's Schuester?"

"He knows. Don't worry, Lauren. It's a man." Lauren laughs on the other end.

"Goodnight, you idiot." Quinn smiles at her friend.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Puckerman." She sing songs before hanging up.

Her brow knits together at the sight across the courtyard. Schuester has pulled out an alligator handbag. He holds it up.

Quinn remembers this being the handbag usually slug over the headboard of "Emma's" bedside. Always just within reach.

William opens it and makes his way to the living room, placing another long distance phone call. While on the phone he removes a couple of rings, Diamond, she notices. A watch, brooch, pearls and a few other necklaces. He's seemingly discussing each item with whomever is on the other line, looking as though he's trying to make up his mind on something.

He hangs up the phone and returns to the bedroom. He wraps the handbag up in a oversized coat and places them out of sight.

Quinn hears loud chatter from Finn's house, the party now well underway. She enjoys the sight for a bit, envisioning she herself is in the room, enjoying the company.

The sound of footsteps coming from just outside her apartment, tear her away from the party. She puts the camera down and turns her attention to the door.

It swings open, and Rachel stands silhouetted in the entrance. Quinn finds it a rather attractive picture.

"Quick. Take a look. Schuester's getting ready to pull out for good!" Quinn states, abruptly turning back to the window, as Rachel dashes to her side.

Quinn's face falls as she finds that the lights in the bedroom have been shut off, and Will is sitting in the living room pouring himself a drink.

He looks over the side of his window and glances down at his garden.

"He doesn't seem to be in any hurry." Rachel says pointedly.

"He was just laying all his things out on one of the beds! Coats, suits, shirts, socks. Even his wife's…" She stops and turns back to look at Rachel. "The alligator bag his wife had on the bedpost."

"What about it?" Rachel asks.

"He had it hidden in the dresser! Well, at least it was in there. He took it out, went to the phone and called somebody. Long distance. His wife's jewelry was in the handbag. And something about it worried him. He was asking somebody advice over the phone."

"Someone not his wife?" She asks her voice sounding distant.

"I never saw him ask her for advise before." She smiles. "But she volunteered it plenty." Quinn turns back around toward the window. Shuester is now standing at the window with his drink. He puts his drink down suddenly, and briskly leaves the apartment.

"I wonder where he's going now?" Rachel asks a little more for Quinn's amusement, than her own.

"I don't know."

"Suppose he doesn't come back again?"

"He will. All his things are still piled on the bed."

Rachel heads to turn on a lamp. " Well, I guess it's safe to put on some lights now."

"Not Yet!" Quinn picks up her camera and hunts the ally and street for Will.

She replaces it on the desk just as quickly. "He must have gone somewhere to the right." She says more to herself.

Rachel smirks and makes her way around the room igniting several of the table lamps.

As the room fills to the brim with light, Quinn can see she's wearing another extravagantly beautiful dress. The tiny woman seems quite animated tonight, moving gracefully. She seems to be dancing, almost floating instead of walking. Everything she does just seems so fluid.

Quinn turns around to face the room fully. Watching a much more intriguing scene then the one outside.

"All day long I've tried to keep my mind on work." Rachel says matter of factly.

"Thinking about Schuester?" Quinn inquires.

Rachel nods her head. "And you, and your friend Noah." She stops moving to face Quinn. "Did you hear from him again, since he left?"

"Not a word. He was going to check on the railroad station, and the trunk. He must be still on it."

As Quinn talks, Rachel seems to be thinking something over in her head.

She starts pacing, Quinn watches on with amusement and curiosity. Rachel's holding a small briefcase like bag which she places on the table behind her. Quinn continues to look on at her.

"Something on your mind, Rachel?"

"It doesn't make sense to me." The wheels almost visibly turning in her mind.

"What doesn't?"

"Women aren't that unpredictable." Rachel starts. Quinn is losing a little bit of patients waiting for Rachel to spit out her thoughts.

"Rachel, I can't guess what you're thinking."

Rachel makes her way closer to Quinn. She stops just in front of her. Her eyes sparkle in the light and he body looks tense with concentration.

"A woman had a favorite handbag, it always hangs on her bedpost where she can get at it. Then she takes a trip and leaves it behind. Why?" Trying to place the pieces together while talking them out.

"Because she didn't know she was going on a trip, and where she was going she wouldn't need a handbag." Quinn says, suddenly gathering up some of Rachel's assumptions and point.

"But only her husband would know that." Rachel begins to pace again. "And the jewelry! Women don't keep all their jewelry in a purse, all tangled, getting scratched and twisted up!"

"Do they hide it in their husband's clothes?" Quinn asks,

Seeing as even though she may once have been married to a man, and is still very much a woman. Quinn's never been one for purses and jewelry. More of satchels and camera's hanging in place of a necklace.

"They do not! And they don't leave it behind them. A woman going anywhere but the hospital would always take makeup, perfume and jewelry."

"Inside stuff?" Quinn muses.

"Basic equipment. You don't leave it behind in your husband's drawer in your favorite handbag." Rachel states as if it's common knowledge.

"I'm with you, Sweetie, but Detective Noah Puckerman has a pat answer for that."

"That Mrs. Schuester left at six a.m. yesterday with her husband?" Rachel recites.

"That's what the witnesses told him."

"Well, I have a pat rebuttal for Mr. Puckerman. That couldn't be Mrs. Schuester, or I don't know women."

"Still, those witnesses."

"We'll agree the saw a woman, but she wasn't Mrs. Schuester. That is, yet." Rachel raises her eyebrows, filled now with confidence in her prediction.

Quinn can almost see the theoretical hands-on-hip stance the small woman would take facing up to Puck saying '_I told you so_.'

Rachel comes to stand in front of the object of her affections wheelchair.

Quinn reaching up to take her hands.

"Come here." Quinn says while she pulls Rachel onto her lap.

Rachel follows suit and throws her arms around the blonde. She's still rather proud of herself, placing a victory kiss on Quinn's flush cheek.

"I'd like to see your friend's face when we tell him. He doesn't sound like much of a detective."

"Don't be too hard on him. He's a steady worker. I wish he'd get here, though." Quinn states.

Rachel buries her face into the crook of Quinn's neck.

"Mmmm, don't rush me. We have all night." She speaks into Quinn's skin. Her breath heating up the exposed flesh and causing Quinn's body to tremble at the sensation.

There's a pause and Quinn moves back to look the shorter girl in the eyes.

"We have all, what?" She asks, a little confused.

"Night. I'm going to stay with you." Rachel says as if it's a regular occurrence.

"You'll have to clear that through my landlord…" Quinn says as Rachel cuts her off with a kiss.

"I have the whole weekend off."

"Well, that's fine. But I only have one bed, and…" Rachel shushes her. And kisses her again, trying to get lost in some small moment of passion.

She runs a hand through Quinn tousled hair. Pulling her in deeper. Rachel's heart races, and she hopes the unsteady pattern of Quinn's is due to their closeness, and the way Rachel's other hand is gingerly tracing circles on her not cast leg.

And not caused by any wild thoughts of the Schuester's. She sits up, breaking the kiss.

"Say, anything else and I'll stay tomorrow night too." Rachel says with a double sided smile.

"Rachel, I won't be able to give you any…" Again Rachel purposefully cuts her off with a kiss. It's kind of her tactic in shutting Quinn up most days.

It's one of the few things that actually works. "Pajamas." Quinn finishes her statement.

Rachel laughs, gets up, and goes to the previously forgotten case. She sashes back in Quinn's direction.

"You said I'd have to live out of one suitcase. I'll bet yours isn't this small?" Quinn looks on a little surprised.

"That's a suitcase?" Rachel nods and starts to open it.

"A Mark Cross overnight case, anyway. Compact, but ample enough." As it opens the contents spill out, atop the case.

Pajamas, slippers, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and all the necessities for a nights stay. She moves back to Quinn's lap. Displaying the inside of her case. "I'll trade you, my feminine intuition for a bed for the night." She adds playfully. Quinn smiles at her tact at being rather clever and witty when she wants to be.

"I'd be no better than Schuester, to refuse." Quinn say. Rachel's attention is drawn away from Quinn as the music from Finn's place starts to echo into the room.

"There's that song again." She gets up, placing her case on the desk nearby, still wide open.

She goes to the window, Quinn turning to look with her.

The party is considerably larger than it was just a bit ago. Everyone crowded around Finn listening and dancing to his song. Chatting here and there.

Rachel just stands listening as if in a trance. "Where does a man get the inspiration for a song like that?" Quinn watches her. A little jealous of the fact that she doesn't posses the same sort of musical ability that has her girlfriend so obviously intranced.

"From his landlord, once a month." Quinn throws out distastefully.

"It's utterly beautiful." She turns back to Quinn. "I wish I could be creative."

"You are. You have a talent for creating difficult situations." Rachel's smile grows as wide as humanly possible.

"I do?" She saying cheerfully.

"Staying the night here, uninvited." Quinn mention. Rachel sits on the bed, and leans towards Quinn.

"Surprise, is the most important element of attack." Her eyes flutter naturally as she throws out a rather seductive smile in Quinn general direction. "And besides, you're not up on your private eye literature. When they're in trouble, it's always their Girl Friday who gets them out of it."

"The same girl who keeps him out of the clutches of seductive show girls, and over-passionate daughters of the rich?" Quinn says languidly.

"The same."

"But he never ends up marrying her. Strange."

Rachel stands up and dead pans at Quinn. Always trying to ruin the mood. "Weird." She adds with a spins. "Why don't I slip into something comfortable?"

"You mean, like the kitchen? And make us some coffee?"

Rachel places her palm on Quinn's face and lets it softly drag down to her chin.

"Exactly what I had in mind, along with some Brandy." She exits to the kitchen while humming along to Finn's song.

Quinn customarily turns back to her sacred window.

From behind Quinn the door pushes open. Puck steps in, coming down the steps slowly, looking rather preoccupied.

Quinn turns to greet him. Puck doesn't acknowledge her yet. Instead he runs a hand over the side of his head and down the back of his neck.

He looks a little stressed, and tired. Quinn just waits patiently knowing this look and waiting for Puck to say what he's thinking.

Puck, still taking his time, reaches for a cigarette from his pocket. Bringing it up to his lips. His attention stirs when he hears Rachel humming from the other room.

You can see her shadow on the ceiling, dancing around in the kitchen. Quinn takes a look at what Puck's eyeing.

He lets out a sigh, that Quinn can't entirely read, and reaches for the lighter on the desk. As he lights the end of his smoke he returns the lighter to it's previous state, his eyes land on Rachel's bag containing her lingerie and overnight belongings.

Quinn still watching at Puck's silent actions. The seemingly falsely unaffected man makes his way passed Quinn. Without so much as a glance, and stares out the window taking in everything that's going on outside. Including the darkened windows of Will's apartment.

Quinn still trying to penetrate Puck's mind without having to ask what's on it tries to search his stoic face for clues.

Finally as if Puck too was inside her thoughts, quietly asks;

"What else do you have on this man Schuester?" Quinn's tension eases off a little.

"Enough to scare me that you wouldn't get here in time, and we'd lose him." She says to the man still not facing her.

"you think he's getting out of here?"

"Everything he owns is laid out on the bed, ready to be packed."

He nods contemplatively. His head turning quickly to the sound of Rachel coming out of the kitchen.

She's wielding two large brandy snifters loaded to the brim. They are cupped in her small hands, as she rotates them to warm the liquid.

She is quite beautiful, Quinn can't help but think to herself.

She wonders slightly what Puck must be thinking.

Quinn's interest in women is also something that she, and her once husband, don't generally discuss.

Puck however reacts to Rachel appreciatively.

"Just warming some brandy." She hands one glass to Quinn, the other she offers to Puck. "Mr. Puckerman? I presume." He takes the glass rather awkwardly and smiles at her.

"Puck, this is Miss Rachel Berry." Quinn being hostess, rather she meant to be or not, introduces her guests to one another.

Puck bows his head slightly but his eyes remain fixed to her. "How do you do?" He offers.

"We think Schuester's guilty." She adds in true Rachel fashion, not wanting to waste any precious time. She turns on her heels and heads right back into the kitchen. Leaving Puckerman a little bewildered, yet amused.

He ignores her statement, due to the fact that he still trying to inwardly recover for the girls attractiveness. And the idea that she in fact 'belongs' to the woman he once believed himself to be madly in love with. His eyes quickly move from where Rachel was to the case with her things in it then slowly lets them make their way to Quinn.

Quinn reads him like an open book now.

"Careful, Puck." She warns him. They sit quietly for a moment, both lost in their own private thoughts. No doubt all circulating around Rachel.

The phone rings…

"Hello?" Quinn listens, and looks up at Puck. "Just a minute please." She lifts the phone out in his direction.

He juggles the phone, his cigarette and his drink. Quinn finds it to be rather entertaining. Like her own little one man circus.

"Puckerman speaking. Uh-huh. Yeah. Mmmmhmm, hmm? Okay. Thank you. Yeah, goodbye." He hands the phone back to Quinn, who hangs it up.

Rachel comes back with her own, much smaller glass of brandy.

"The coffee will be ready soon. Quinn, aren't you going to tell him about the jewelry?" Puck looks suddenly a little more interested.

"Jewelry?" He asks.

"He has his wife's jewelry hidden in among his clothes over there." Quinn states.

"You sure it belongs to his wife?" He turns his head when Rachel answers instead.

"It was in her favorite handbag. And, Mr. Puckerman…" He puts his hand up to stop her momentarily.

"Please, call me Puck." He gestures for her to go on. Again in shear Rachel fashion…she ignores his request.

"And, Noah." He rolls his eyes a little, _just like a woman, _he thinks. "That can lead to only one conclusion."

"Which is?" He questions. To which Quinn answers.

"That wasn't Mrs. Schuester who left with him yesterday morning."

"You figured that out, huh?" He looks back to Rachel who answers with the same pride as earlier.

"It's just that women don't leave jewelry behind when they go on a trip."Rachel says to him.

Quinn starts to talk before Puck can start his own sentence.

"Come on Puck! You don't really need any of this information, do you?" He smiles at the woman, then strolls to the table. Putting out his cigarette and discarding his glass.

"As a matter of fact, I don't." He doesn't look at either girl, just continues his spiel. "Will Schuester is no more a murderer than I am." The women look on at the pacing man with astonishment, before Quinn can yell at him.

"You mean you can explain everything that went on over there? And is still going on?" She says, almost accusatory.

"No." He states blankly. "And neither can you. That's a secret and private world you're looking into out there. People do a lot of things in private that they couldn't explain in public." He looks back and forth between the two as if to insinuate his point using them as an example. Rachel replies with sarcasm.

"Like disposing of their wives?"

"Get that idea out of your mind. It will only lead you in the wrong direction."

"But Puck. The saw, the knives…" Quinn digging for something, anything.

"Did you ever own a saw?"

"Well, in the garage, back home, we…" She stops having almost slipped about her and Pucks past. That was a conversation she hadn't had with Rachel yet, and really didn't want to start now. Especially not with him currently in the room with them.

"And how many people did you cut up with it? Or what of the hundreds of knives you've probably owned in your lifetime?" He continues, not catching the slip.

"I'm not a killer!" She throws out with reason.

"Your logic is backward, Q." He states.

Rachel cuts in spiritedly.

"You can't ignore the wife disappearing! And the trunk, and the jewelry!"

"I checked the railroad station. He bought a ticket. He put her on the train ten minutes later. Destination: Merritsville. Witnesses. This deep." He holds up his hand a few feet to exaggerate his point.

"It might have been a woman, but it couldn't have been Mrs. Schuester. That jewelry…" He cuts her off…done with this nonsense.

"Look, Miss Berry. That feminine intuition sells magazines, but in real life, it's still a fairytale. I don't know how many wasted years I've spent running down leads based on women's intuitions." He looks at Quinn. Who looks like she's about to clobber him for talking to Rachel like that. Rachel just looks down a little hurt, and shut up.

"I take it you didn't find the trunk, and this is just an old speech you once gave at the Policeman's Ball." Quinn says trying to be just as snide as he'd been.

"I found the trunk a half hour after I left here."

"Of course, it's normal for a man to tie his trunk up with heavy rope." Rachel says trying to match the tone of the other two. Trying to maybe impress Quinn a little.

"When the lock is broken, yes."

"What was in the trunk? A surly note to me?" Quinn asks trying to lighten the current mood a tad.

"Mrs. Schuester's clothes. Clean, carefully packed, not too stylish, but presentable."

"Didn't you take it to the crime lab?" Rachel ask genuinely curious. Puck gives her a scathing look.

"I sent it on it's merry and legal way."

"Why, when a woman only goes on a simple trip, does she take everything she owns?" Quinn asks challenging Puck. Puck gesturing to Rachel, bowing his head at her.

"Let the female psychology department handle that one." He says, Rachel slightly glares at his comment, then answers coldly.

"I would say that it looked as if she wasn't coming back."

"That's what they call a family problem." Puck adds.

"If his wife wasn't coming back, why didn't he tell his landlord." Quinn asks refusing to let the subject be dropped. "I'll answer it for you, because he had something to hide."

Puck inhales deeply and sighs out his breath. He takes another hesitant glance to Rachel's overnight bag. Then he looks back at Quinn, suggestion in his eyes.

"Do, uh, you tell your landlord everything?" He cocks an eyebrow at her. To which her nostrils flare and her eyes slit a little.

"I told you to be careful." She sneers. Rachel looks at Quinn confused, not understanding the exchange of words between the two friends.

Puck points to Quinn's photo lined walls. "If I'd been careful piloting that reconnaissance plane, you wouldn't have taken the kind of pictures that you got a medal for, a big job, fame, money." He spouts not in the least bit concerned with Rachel's presence.

Quinn however still very aware…and wanting him to shut up.

"All things I hate." She says without any expression behind her tone. Puck does a complete 180 at the sound of Quinn's response.

He relaxes and smiles.

"Now, what do you say we sit down to a quiet, friendly drink or two. Forget all about this, and tell lies about the old days. Hmmm?" He looks from Quinn to Rachel, then back to Quinn. Neither show even the slightest bit of encouragement for his suggestion.

Their faces unwavering. Rachel speaks icily.

"You're through with the case?"

Still relaxed, "There isn't any 'case' to be through with, Miss Berry. Now let's get down to that friendly drink."

The women don't change their demeanor. Puck growing increasingly self-conscious, checks his watch. "Maybe you're right. I guess I'd better get home and get some sleep."

Still no response. He grabs his unfinished drink and tosses it back, missing slightly and getting brandy on his suit as well as on his chin. He wipes it clean with his sleeve, like a child would.

He starts away towards the door. "If you need anymore help, Quinn. Consult the yellow pages of your telephone directory." Rachel is completely fuming at this point due to his comments.

"I hate 'funny' exit lines." She states with distaste.

"Who was the trunk addressed to?" Quinn asks him. Puck puts his customary hat on.

"Mrs. Emma Schuester." He opens the door.

"Let's wait and see who picks it up." She says challenging him to argue. Puck stops halfway out the door. And snaps his fingers.

"Oh, that phone call! I gave them your number, hope you don't mind." He adds playfully. Yet thick with sarcasm.

"That depends on who 'they' were."

"The police Department at Merritsville. They called to report. The trunk was just picked up. By Mrs. Emma Schuester." He tips his hat at the two woman. "Don't stay up too late." He closes the door behind him.

Quinn's face drops. Disheartened. She turns to the window. Rachel follows behind her glumly.

* * *

><p>They watch Finn's party together. Quinn watches Miss Torso, read on her bed. Rachel however is watching the adjacent room.<p>

Then she taps the blonde.

"Look." Rachel motions to Miss Lonely Hearts place.

She's returned with a man. He's much younger looking than her. And by most standards attractively built.

She plays coy. He dips down and places a drunken yet passionate kiss to her lips. He's flush against her, and pressing then against the front door. She breaks away with a playful giggle. Opening the front door and leading him inside.

She gathers up a couple glasses and a bottle. He kisses her cheek as she directs him to the table. He removes his coat and sits on the couch completely ignoring the mentioned table.

She sits with him. He moves towards her cautiously. He hugs her, then gives and equally as passion filled kiss. It slowly moves to her cheek, to her ear, then to her neck. The kiss becoming increasingly more aggressive.

Suddenly she pushes him away and slaps him across the face. His hand flies to the invaded skin of his cheek. Standing rather forcibly and backing away.

He's yelling and she's yelling.

They argue while he grabs his coat and makes his way sidestepping to the door. He leaves and slams the door loudly behind him. Stomping off down the corridor.

She goes back the liquor and pours herself a large glass. Chugging it she throws herself onto the couch sobbing uncontrollably.

Rachel can't take the scene anymore. She moves from Quinn's side and grabs a cigarette from the case, she lights it as Quinn turns to face her.

"As much as I hate to give Noah Puckerman too much credit, he might have gotten a hold of something when he said this was pretty private stuff going on out there." Quinn studies the photographs she's taken over the years. "do you suppose it's ethical to watch a man with binoculars, and a long-focus lens, until you can see the freckles on the back of his neck, and almost read his mail?" Quinn contemplates deep in thought.

Rachel watching every beautiful face she makes while the thoughts are being formed behind her equally elegant eyes. Quinn continues, "Do you suppose, it's ethical even if you prove he didn't commit a crime?" Rachel looks on at the gorgeously handsome blonde. She's rugged and ridged and sometimes completely infuriating, but that's love isn't it?

"I'm not much on rear window ethics." Rachel states, not conveying any of her own personal thoughts in the moment.

"Of course, they have the same chance. They can look at me like a bug under glass if they want to." Quinn adds after the fact. Rachel turns closer to her.

"Quinnie, if anybody walked in here, I don't think they'd believe what they'd see."

"Huh?"

"You and me with long faces. Plunged into despair, because we find out that a man didn't kill his wife." She places a gentle hand on the seated girls shoulder. "We're two of the most frightening ghouls I've ever known." Quinn silently laughs at the absurdity of the idea. "You'd think we could be a little bit happy that the poor woman is alive and well." Quinn's silent laugh becomes a fully developed one, suddenly letting her heart lighten and bring her thoughts back to the fact that she has an incredibly beautiful, not to mention well spoken woman in her room…spending the night.

The images of the evening yet to come, start to overflow. "Whatever happened to that old saying 'Love Thy Neighbor'?" Rachel adds.

"I think I'll start reviving it tomorrow, with say…Miss Torso." Quinn says jokingly.

Rachel sends her a cocked eyebrow in response before placing a chaste kiss to the blonde forehead.

She moves to the windows and proceeds to lower the blinds, one by one. Over exaggerating each reach, to give Quinn a nice little show from her out of reach chair.

"Not if I have to move into an apartment across the courtyard and do the dance of the seven veils once and hour." All blinds are closed and she turns her focus back to her girl. "Show's over for tonight." She says with a wink. "At least that one." She slowly makes her way passed the wheelchair bound woman, avoiding Quinn's reach to pull her into her lap again.

She slides by, running her fingers over the pleading girls forearm.

Quinn fakes a pout, but Rachel isn't looking anyway, she's already busied herself in the corner of the room. Collecting up her case and belonging.

She holds her lingerie up to herself. "Preview, of the coming attractions." She goes toward the adjoined bedroom then pauses. "Did Mr. Puckerman think I stole this case?" She asks still not understand the shared comments between the Puck and Quinn from earlier.

Quinn side smiles. "No, Rachel. I don't think he did." She says with mocking seriousness.

Rachel shrugs and continues on her path to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>It's been a while since Rachel left her presence.<p>

Quinn sits stewing by herself. Contemplating the nights events over yet another drink. She thinks to herself when, if ever would be a good time to maybe mention the full extent of her and one Noah Puckerman's past relationship.

Perhaps there just isn't a way to sooth over that topic. Unless of course forgoing it all together.

She lets her chair spin around aimlessly trying to entertain herself and keep her mind from wandering further.

She dead pans in mid spin at the sight entering from the right of her. Rachel stands at the top of the landing, in her short peach colored gown, a sheer kimono draped around her otherwise bare shoulders.

Quinn has to put her glass down for fear of spilling the contents within.

"What do you think?" The brunette asks with a twirl. Quinn sit quietly trying to think of a way to answer this question. She can't. "I'll rephrase the question." Rachel says patronizingly.

"Thank you."

Rachel holds out the folds of her kimono, exposing her tanned shoulders to the light glare from the dim lamps.

"Do you like it?" Quinn studies the outfit further. As if judging in a fashion show.

"Well, if there was one less thread this way." Quinn motions her hand horizontally. "And two less that way." Motioning vertically. "I might give up 'bachelorhood'."

Rachel bounces forward playfully, feeling accomplished and as though she succeeded in her mission to finally get a rise out of Quinn in some sense.

"I'll be right back." She bounds off to the kitchen. Almost inaudibly squeaking, because she's 100 percent positive Quinn's stare has yet to leave her figure.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the distance a blood-curdling scream cuts through the night air outside.<p>

Startled, both Quinn and Rachel move quickly for the shades. Rachel lifts the blinds.

The screaming subsides into hysterical sobbing.

Lights in the apartments that had previously been off start to flicker on. People are pouring to their windows from every direction trying to find the source of the scream.

Finn and his party guests make their way to the balcony.

The landlord beneath the newlyweds looks out. As well as the newlyweds themselves finally breaking from all other activity out of curiosity.

A couple from the rooftop apartment lean over the railing to see down.

Miss Torso, pulling on a light shawl, comes to her little balcony as well. Leaning up to view the apartments above her.

The round woman emerging from her house to look over the dividing fence.

The couple who own the little basket dog are standing on their fire escape/bed. They are both looking down, the husband is silent, but his wife is holding her head in her hands sobbing uncontrollably.

Lying near the sidewalk in the yard below is the lifeless body of her little dog.

Miss Lonely Hearts comes out, being the closest to the scene. She goes up to the small animal and picks him up softly in her arms cradling him attentively. She looks up at the woman above her.

"Tina, I…I'm sorry. He's dead. He's been strangled, and the neck is broken." She lets a small tear slip, feeling terrible for the poor woman.

Tina, as they've now been alerted is the woman's name. Stops her sobbing and quiets herself momentarily. She places her shaking hands on the railing to steady herself, griping fiercely. She looks around at all the neighbors who've came out to witness her sobs. Her chest moves in heavy breaths trying to keep herself from losing it, and starting to cry again.

"Which one of you did it?" She's yelling out at everyone in general. "Which one of you killed my dog?"

No one answers her. "You don't know the meaning of the word 'neighbor'. Neighbors like each other. Speak to each other. Care if anybody lives or dies." She adds the last bit and Quinn can't help but feel it's in someway inadvertently being aimed at her.

"But none of you do! You don't talk, you don't help, you…" She stops trying to bite back her tears again. Her tall husband rubs a hand down her back trying to consol her a bit. "You don't even see…But I couldn't imagine any, even of you, being so low that you'd kill a little helpless, friendly dog! The only thing in this whole neighborhood who liked anybody!"

The guests of the party begin to reenter the apartment. Tired of the conversation that doesn't seem to pertain to them anyway.

People start to move back into their separate houses tuning out the sniffles of Tina.

Completely repulsed and furious now. Tina starts to scream at the onlookers.

"Did you kill him because he liked you? Just because he liked you?" She starts to cry again and returns into the security of her home.

Her husband leans over the railing and motions to Miss Lonely Hearts to place the dog in the basket that he's been lowering the entire time.

She places the dog in for his final ride home. Petting his soft coat gently before letting the man pull it up.

The rooftop couple return inside.

Followed by the newlyweds drawing the shades. The landlord follows suit.

Miss Torso looks forlorn while making her way back into her darkened room.

Quinn and Rachel are at the window still. Rachel's tiny hands are cupped inside Quinn's for comfort at the display that just unfolded before them.

"For a minute, Puck almost had me convinced I was wrong." Quinn states into the air blankly.

"But you're not?" Rachel asks with sincere confusion.

"In the whole courtyard, only one person didn't come to the window." She points out at Schuester's apartment window.

It's dark, looking seemingly to the average on looker that no one is home. But in the center of the living room window you can see the familiar sight of the orange glow of a cigarette being slowly inhaled, and exhaled.

Rachel looks down to Quinn puzzled, still in a small state of shock.

Disappointed a little at knowing her previous win over Quinn's attention will be dismissed in light of the new developments.

"Why would Schuester want to kill a little dog?" Rachel laughs a little. "Because he knew too much?" The thought completely escaping her as outrageous.

Quinn just nods solemnly. Rachel's eyebrows knit together. 

_Could he really have murdered that poor little dog?_

* * *

><p><strong>Alright well, that's it for tonight. My eye's are burning from staring at this screen for so long. Thanks for reading guys, more soon to come!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Short little chapter to start coming back. Sorry it's been FOREEEVER since I've updated. A lot has been going on and I kinda just forgot. I've got a lot of time on my hands now so updates should hopefully happen more regularly!**

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><p>It's just about dusk, Quinn, Santana and Rachel are huddled together at the window looking out. Quinn wields the long focus lens to her eye. The three stare intently at the William Schuester's bathroom. Schuester is wiping the enameled wall with a damp cloth. He rubs at particular spots over and over.<p>

"Do you think this was worth waiting all day to see?" Quinn asks to the room.

"Is he cleaning house?" Rachel says with an innocence behind her tone.

"He's washing down the bathroom walls." Quinn responds to the womans question.

"Must have splattered a lot." Santana with a shrug. Which gathers disgusted looks from the girls, the thought forcing Quinn to set her camera down. "Well, why not?" Santana shouts. "That's what we're all thinking! He killed her in there, and he has to wipe up the stains before he leaves!" Rachel turns from the window with a pained sadness filled face.

"Santana, you choice of words…" Rachel chokes out before Santana interrupts her.

"Nobody's invented polite words yet for killing."

Quinn, who hadn't been paying attention anyway, spots something suddenly and breaks into their conversation. "Rachel, Rachel. On the shelf over there, get me the small yellow box!" She points without looking. "And the little viewer!" Still looking out the window, focused, she holds out her right hand waiting for the box. Rachel places her requests in her open palms. Once opened Rachel sees an array of different colored slides. Quinn picks two carefully and holds them up to the light. Rachel and Santana are now filled to the brim with curiosity. "These aren't more than two weeks old. I hope I didn't take all leg art. Ha! Here.." She holds up a slide. "I think this is the one." She places the slide into the viewer with small sounds of self satisfaction. As she lifts the viewer to her eyes Rachel asks impatiently:

"Well, Quinn. What are you looking for?" Quinn's looking through the viewer, then blinks and looks again without. She repeats this motion several times before responding.

"Something, that if I'm right…might solve a murder." Rachel's eyes grow two sizes, which Santana notices and finds endearing. Inwardly berating Quinn for being so blind sometimes.

"Mrs. Schuester?" Rachel's now little voice shakes out.

"Uh-uh. The dog. I think I know now why Schuester killed it." She hands the viewer to Rachel, going to help her to use it, when the girl takes it like a pro and begins mimicking Quinn's previous actions. "You take a look and tell me what you see." She says with sarcasm. Through the viewer Rachel can see the identical view out of the window. "Now, take it away." As instructed Rachel looks again without it. She raises an eyebrow, not catching what Quinn is trying to throw. "Well?"

"It's just a picture of the backyard, that's all."

"I know. But there's one important change. The flowers in Schuester's pet flower bed."

"You mean the one the dog was sniffing around?" Santana interjects putting pieces of Quinn's crazy puzzle together. Quinn turns from Rachel to her quicker counterpart.

"And digging in!" She points out to the bed. "Look at that flower bed!" They all lean forward a little in a rather silly effect that an outsider would find quite humorous. "There's a dip at this end. And since when do flowers grow shorter in two weeks?"

"There's something buried there." A gloss over Santana's eyes as if she's imagining herself as the Watson to Quinn's Holms. Rachel playing the part of the loyal and devoted dog.

"Mrs. Schuester!" Rachel shrieks with an intake of breath. The other two looking to her as if both having just been imagining the same Sherlock fantasy. Santana starts to chuckle, gathering everyone's attention. Her face sobers and she answers their unasked question.

"You haven't spent much time in cemeteries, have you? Mr. Schuester could hardly put his wife into a plot of ground scarcely one foot square." Rachel's body shutters a little at the thought. To which Quinn finally seems to take notice and gives a silent unnoticed sad smirk to the girl. "Unless, he puts it in standing on end. Which would be very original and not require the use of either a knife or a saw." At this Rachel wraps her arms around herself in a tight hug. "My guess is she's scattered all over town. A leg in the East River, an arm…"

"Santana, please!" Rachel squeals.

"Something's in there. Those flowers have been taken up, and put back." Quinn sends a glance to Santana as a warning.

"It, could be…the knife. And the saw." having a hard time saying it, Rachel manages.

"Call Lieutenant Puckerman!" Santana Shouts.

"No…let's wait. Let's wait until it gets dark. I'll go over and dig it up!" Rachel says in a sudden change of strength. Halfway through Rachel's speech Quinn begins speaking.

"I'm not going to call Puckerman until I show him the body of Mrs. Schuester." She aims at Santana and then turns to Rachel. "And you're not going to dig up anything, and get your neck broken too. What we've got to do is find some way to get in there, and…" Santana's quiet voice brings her to a halt.

"He's starting to pack." The absent two rush the window. Schuester is in his bedroom, methodically folding a suit into a suitcase. Another suitcase is laying unopened on the bed. Quinn stares out, gripping her chair tightly, with desperation riddled on her face. She looks down at the flowers and the swings herself around abruptly. She wheels away to a cabinet where she finds a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope. She writes something on the envelope then proceeds to the letter. Santana and Rachel watch on eagerly, curious to what she's writing. They can see the envelope is addressed to "William Schuester" and the letter reads simply, "What have you done with her?"

* * *

><p><strong>More to come later today or tonight. :)<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Here it is, a tad longer than that last chapter. Stuff starts getting crazy with Schuester.**

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><p>Quinn's back at her window holding tightly her beloved long-focus lens. Santana stands behind her thinking to herself that it's almost molded to the other woman's hand at this point. They're watching on cautiously as Rachel steps out from the alleyway with the illustrious white envelope. Before she reaches the building mailboxes she stops herself and turns towards the face of Quinn's building. She lets a coy smile brush across her pink painted lips and passes a small wave to Quinn. Rachel reads the names and corresponding numbers on the boxes, then instead of placing the letter in its intended box she scurries off. Quinn's taken for a moment.<p>

Across the way Santana catches sight of Miss Torso's apartment. She's standing on a stepstool, nailing curtains above her window. Her legs are bare, but she's still wearing her signature high heels. Santana feels something tug unwillingly on her heart string. She breath catches in her throat and she thanks the stars for letting Quinn be so unobservant when it comes to things going on inside her own apartment. Because the moment passes without so much as a nod from the sitting girl. She lets her focus return to things less disheartening, like the suspected murder in Schuester's. Rachel is standing in the corridor of the mans apartment building. She's tiptoeing to Will's door. As she approaches the women can see Mr. Schuester make his way into the living room. He paces the floor until he find the pack of cigarettes. Digging in his pockets he finds a box of matches and begins to light one of the sticks. Rachel kneels down into the door frame, carefully sliding the letter under the crack beneath the door. At this moment Will extinguished the lit match and tosses it into an ashtray. Hearing something at the door his attention is drawn from his smoking and his head whips around to Rachel direction. He freezes as he sees the letter on the floor. This momentary hesitation allows Rachel the time she needs to walk carefully, but swiftly away. Will rapidly moves to his door, capturing the letter in his empty hand. He looks at it briefly as Quinn watches Rachel turn the corner, completely out of sight now. Her heart does a small victory dance at this. Just at this thought Schuester throws open his door. Seeing no one he edges himself down the hall a little further, but changes his mind and heads back to the safety of his home. He shreds open the offending envelope, there is some curiosity on his face as he reads. His face goes sheet white as the color completely drains from the rest of his. He stands frozen as the two women look on with tenseness and unease.

"You did it Schuester! You did it!" Quinn says to the open room nearly spilling from her chair. Suddenly Will turns and dashes down the corridor. Quinn whips the lens from her eye, as Will run down the halls, she cries out instinctively. "Rachel, Look out! He's coming!" Both herself and Santana are frantic with nerves.

"You shouldn't have let her do that! If he ever…"

"Look." Quinn points interrupting Santana's scolds. Rachel appears at a lower level door just below Schuester's. She hides, pressing her back against the wall firmly. Her chest heaving slowly. In the corridor above Will returns frustrated. He stands on the fire escape directly above Rachel. Aware of his presence she immediately retreats into the doorway. She disappears into a lower hallway as Will continues to search his fire escape. Both women sigh in relief at Rachel's miraculous disappearing act.

"Thank heaven that's over!" Santana breaths out sounding as if she'd been holding her breath in the entirety of this venture.

"I have a feeling we've just begun." Schuester makes his way through his living room to the bedroom, where he finds a rather ratty shirt and throws it on over his messed hair. He then returns to packing his suitcases, moving unhurriedly. Quinn her temples thoughtfully. Santana is still scanning the neighborhood. "No doubt of it. He's leaving. The question is when?" Santana's brow knits together thoughtfully, as she sees something. She reaches for Quinn's lens.

"Mind if I use the portable keyhole?" Quinn roles her eyes handing it off.

"Not as long as you tell me what you're looking at." Santana is peering off into Miss Lonely Hearts' apartment. She has opened a small brown bottle, and taken out four red pills. Which she places eloquently on her tiny kitchen table. There is a candle burning gently next to what looks to be a wilting flower in a vase. A dim lamp lit somewhere just beyond the curtains out of sight. She's dressed in street clothes, sitting alone again. She proceeds to open a black covered book bending ever so slightly as if trying to focus her vision on the small print better. She sneaks a quick glance back at the pills to her left, then sticks her nose right back in the pages of her book.

"I wonder." Santana begins.

"What?" Quinn throws her just out of reach hand up to try and snatch away the lens. Like a tiny toddler reaching to be picked up. Her thin fingers wiggling wildly.

"Miss Lonely Hearts just laid out something that looks like Ambien capsules."

"You can tell that from here?" Quinn wrings her hands together.

"I handled enough of those little red pills to put everybody in New Jersey to sleep for the winter."

"Would four of them…?" She lets the question go unfinished, knowing Santana already know how it would end.

"No, but it makes the rest easy to take. And she's reading that Bible." Trying to press any possible bad thoughts out of her mind Quinn continues.

"Well then I wouldn't worry too much. But let's keep an eye on her." Santana gives the lens back to the awaiting girl.

"You know? You might not be too bad a bargain for Rachel after all." She nudges Quinn a little.

"You don't say! I might just take that compliment as an insult." She smirks a little at her caregiver, when the door busts open. The both turn quickly toward the entrance. Rachel comes in panting heavily. Completely flush in the face. She stands a second at the door, catching her breath and clutching at her chest. But never the less smiling with the pleasure of sampling danger and escaping unharmed.

"Wasn't that close?" She husks out.

"Too close." Rachel makes her way down from the landing.

"What was his reaction? I mean when he looked at the note?" She says stumbling a little before regaining her composure. Santana lets a light hearted smile go at the thought of the tiny girl using all her effort to impress such an un-impressable figure.

"Well, it wasn't the kind of expression that would get him a quick load at the bank." Santana interjects trying to boost the girl up. Rachel finally reaches the target of her desire, placing a light touch to Quinn's arm.

"Quinn, how did I do?" A look of hope and adoration for the blonde in her expressions. Quinn takes the smaller girls hands in her own.

"Real professional. Would have made a great layout for the Bazaar. The model pressed back against a brick wall." She motions her hands as if reading a marquee. "Eyes wild, tense! Low cut bodice, in new suspicious black with a…" She continues on vividly. Some pleasure goes out from Rachel's face a light in her high dimming. Santana notices. She interrupts before Quinn can completely expel all of Rachel's hope.

"You'd make a good door prize at a wake." She says looking to Quinn. It relieves the slight friction, as both Quinn and Rachel laugh. Rachel happens to look toward the window at that moment, and the laugh dies in her throat.

"Quinn, the handbag." Quinn and Santana turn to the window. Schuester has the new alligator bag belonging to his wife in his hands. He moves slowly across the bedroom, out of sight behind the door. He doesn't appear in the living room, he stays in some sort of in-between limbo as the three struggle to see him. He finally reappears, moving back to his packing. He puts the handbag into one of the fuller suitcases and tries to stuff it closed. Quinn looks away from the scene, the other women look on at her expectantly. Waiting for their next cue.

"Suppose, Mrs. Schuester's wedding ring was amongst the jewelry he has in the handbag. During that phone conversation he held up three rings." She pauses and if she could walk to would have do doubt been pacing the room like a natural born Sleuth. "One with a diamond, one with a big stone of some kind. And one plain gold band." Something inside Rachel must have clicked on because she bounces to life, jolting them all a bit.

"And the last thing she'd leave behind would be her wedding ring!" She stops and turns to a wide eyed Santana. "Do you know any women who would leave theirs behind at home?" Santana lifts her hand and looks longingly at her own bare ring finger.

"The only way anybody could get mine off me, if I had one. Would be to chop off my finger. Let's go down and find out what's buried in the garden."

"Why not? I always wanted to meet Mrs. Schuester." Rachel says matter-of-factly with a smug smile on her lips. Quinn looks at them aghast. How had her obsession, become their investigation so fast she thought.

"What are you two talking about?"

"Got a shovel?" Santana asks her.

"No." Thinking that may put an end to this.

"There's probably one in the basement." She says to Rachel.

"Now wait a minute…" Quinn's seen enough life risking quests today. Especially ones involving a certain small framed debonair.

"Quinn, if you're squeamish, just don't look." Rachel says to her playfully. Stirring the less than wholesome thoughts that she was about to have out of Quinn's mind.

"Now hold on! I'm not a bit squeamish about what might be under those flowers. But, I don't care to watch to women end up like that dog!" Santana gets a little uneasy. Her eyes drift from the girls to Schuester's apartment.

"You know, Miss Berry…she might just have something there."

"There's not point in taking unnecessary chances." Rachel wonders how she became the daring one all of a sudden. Quinn points to the desk behind Rachel. "Give me the phone book will ya Rach?"

"For what?"

"Maybe I can get Schuester out of the apartment." Rachel hand her the big yellow book.

"We only need a few minutes." Santana states. The courage suddenly returning.

"I'll try to give you at least fifteen."

"How?" Rachel asks.

"Chelsea 2-7099." She looks up and reaches for the phone. "We scared him once, maybe we can scare him again." She clears her throat and wipes a stray hair from her brow. "I'm using the word 'we' a little too freely, I guess. I don't take any of the chances." She says to Rachel with a longing in her voice, and a sign to go along.

"Shall we vote her in Santana?" Rachel says playing to the girls pitiful state. Trying to cheer up her blonde companion.

"Unanimously." Santana adds that same amount of bravado to her tone. The two women smile at each other in a small victory of sorts. Quinn picks up the phone and dials Chelsea 2-7099. The two watch her tensely. She holds the receiver away from her ear a little, and the buzzer is heard sounding. Rachel look toward Schuester's apartment, then Quinn, then to Santana, then back to the apartment. Her head spinning. Inside Will's apartment, the girls see him come from the bedroom. He approaches the phone hesitantly. Undecided whether or not to answer it.

"Go ahead Schuester. Pick it up!" Quinn says to the air. "You're curious. You wonder if it's your girlfriend calling. The one you killed for." The other girls look to her then back to Will waiting for his response to Quinn's questions. "Pick it up Schuester!" Quickly as if sensing her words, he does just that.

"Hello?" His husky, shaky voice causing Quinn's heart to pound at the mere sound. She convinces her voice to action.

"Did you get my note?" She states knowing full well he needs no further explanation, he knows which note. The girls can almost hear him breathing through the phone. Nerves racking the mans voice. "Well, did you get it Schuester?" Quinn getting braver now too.

"Who are you?"

"I'll give you a chance to find out. Meet me in the bar at the Brevoort. And do it right away!" She waits patiently for the response watching the mans every move.

"Why should I?" I guess bravery in statements is the theme of the evening she thinks to herself.

"For a little business meeting. To settle the estate of you late wife." After a long pause Will speaks up again.

"I don't know what you mean." He says bringing his hand up the back of his neck rubbing roughly away the tension in his muscles.

"Now stop wasting time Schuester, or I'll hang up and call the police." She says with the firmness of a mother reprimanding a child. It seems to rattle the older man some.

"I only have a hundred dollars or so."

"That's a start. I'm at the Brevoort now, I'll be looking for you. Before the man can answer she return the phone to its dock and hangs up. He stars a moment longer at the phone thinking. He doesn't suspect he's being watched through the window by his mystery caller. Then, he makes up his mind and heads for to door.

"Let's go Santana!" Rachel yips. Quinn turns her chair halfway around as Rachel and Santana start quickly for the door. They pause at the sound of her voice behind them.

"One of you watch this window. If I see him coming back, I'll signal with a flashbulb." The door slams as she hears the footsteps of the women dying down the corridor. Quinn takes sight on the alleyway, Schuester trudging through it to the street. She watches until she can no longer see him. She then grabs a small box of flasg bulbs and a reflector. Keeping them placed safely in her lap, she returns to her windows leaning slightly out to see further down. Rachel is in the courtyard directly below Quinn's window. She has reached the stairway leading up and to the right. She looks up and waves to Quinn, as Santana comes up to her carrying a small shovel. The two women hurry up the steps toward an iron ladder they'll soon be using to climb the wall between Quinn's yard and Schuester's. In a moment of fear for the two women in her life, Quinn picks up the phone and quickly dials a familiar number. The ringer sounds and a click on the other end indicated someone's answered. A woman's voice that Quinn doesn't recognize breaks into the silence.

"This is the Puckerman house." Ah…Babysitter she thinks.

"This is Q. L. Fabray, a friend of Noah's. Who am I talking with?" She steals a glance at the courtyard below. Rachel has already climbed the wall and is now helping Santana down into Will's yard. Quinn can't help but admire the smaller girls lithe body, and the particular way the moon is hitting her sends goosebumps down her arms. She really is a thing of beauty.

"This is the baby sitter." Just as she presumed.

"Oh, when are they expected home?

"I'm hired 'til one. They went to dinner and maybe night-clubbing."

"Well, if he calls in, tell him to get in touch with Q. Right Away! I might have quite a surprise for him."

"Does he have your number, Miss Fabray?"

"He has it. Thank you."

"Goodnight." The young girl clicks the phone down. Quinn thinks perhaps the sitter had a hint of suspicion in her voice. It hadn't really occurred to her that it wasn't typical for a women her age to phone up married men at all hours of the night. And to leave vague messages with babysitters at that. Meh, whatever she thought. It's not like Lauren would have thought anything of it. It may not be typical, but it's definitely expected when it comes to Quinn.

Back at ground level, Santana is beginning to dig, carefully lifting the flowers off the center of the bed where they had dipped down. She places the flowers on the sidewalk leaving only the dirt behind. Rachel stands facing Quinn's window and occasionally glances over her shoulder uneasily at Santana's work. From the songwriters apartment suddenly uninvited instruments begin to play. A little annoyed at the interruption Quinn turns to look at the studio windows. Several of the musicians friends are gathered playing their elected instruments. One by one they try out the theme of the songwriter's new melody, running through it in turn becoming familiar with the notes. Quinn can't help but cringe a little at what sounds like a second grade music class all playing out of turn. She shifts her eyes back from the scene to the courtyard. Santana still busy plowing away at the dirt. Rachel has her back to the women, but looks apprehensively over her shoulder once again. She looks up at Quinn again with a worried expression. Feeling the girls nervousness Quinn gives her an encouraging little gesture with her hands, and a tender smile to match. She can see Rachel straighten up a bit with some newly rejuvenated strength. Quinn lets her attention mosey some more. She's brought to Miss Lonely Hearts window. She's sitting on the sofa writing a note with a pad on her knee. Next to her, on her table covered end table the pills sit still seemingly provoking the poor women. As she's still stealing glances at them. Feeling she let distraction get hold of her Quinn remembers her duty and checks the alleyway. Clear. No sign of the brute anywhere. Back to Santana's digging then. There's now a pretty decent size hole being dug. Quinn using her lens to see closer, as she passes she just so happens to pass Rachel's toned legs, she may or may not have let her view linger there for a half a second longer than she should. Letting imagery work it's favor on her. Santana puts her shovel down a confused look splattered across her face. She throws out a helpless hand and shakes her head 'Nothing'. Quinn puts down her lens with evident disappointment. Still watching the scene she sees Rachel look to Schuester's apartment and gesture some instructions to Santana. The she looks up to Quinn and gestures her intentions to enter Will's place. With that she dashes to the fire escape as Santana makes a failed attempt to grab her and keep from doing anything crazy! Quinn's heart is beating out of fear, and something else she'd just rather let stay as "something else". She looks between the girls and the alley, still no sign, but she still can't help but feel so helpless in the situation.

As Rachel starts to climb the fire escape, Santana runs toward the wall in the foreground to climb over it to safety. She has abandoned the shovel and left the flowers and dirt strewn over the walkway. Quinn, tense and wide-eyed can to nothing but watch as Rachel continues her daring climb. Once on the second floor and outside Schuester's apartment she tries unsuccessfully, to get through the window which leads to the kitchen. She then, with some difficulty, stretches and succeeds in getting in through the living room window, which is open. Stunned and a little impressed Quinn watches as she goes directly to the bedroom bending over one of the suitcase inspecting it thoroughly. Rachel turns from the suitcase, alligator handbag in hand. There is an expression of triumph that does not go unnoticed by Quinn. She opens it up and her face changes to dismay. She looks to Quinn to communicate her feelings and turns the handbag upside down. Empty.

Quinn's sweat and anxious. Breathing unsteadily. She speaks aloud to her empty room. "Come on. Come on! Get out of there!" Taking another look at the alley, then back to Rachel. She's dropped the handbag on the bed and is now looking around the bedroom, looking for some place to start searching for the stashed jewelry. Rachel, nervous and worried but still can't help but play as though she's a world renowned diamond thief, stealing precious gems from a murderous villain. She finds this fear rather invigorating. She moves quickly to the dresser and begins opening the drawers checking each of them.

Still, she finds nothing.

The door busts open behind Quinn, Santana hurries into the room. Rushing to stand beside her ward, and friend. Out of breath she tells Quinn, "Rachel says to, ring Schuester's phone the second you see him on the way back!" Quinn swings around to grab her phone.

"I'm going to ring him now!" She breaths out in a frenzy. She picks up the receiver and Santana pushes her hands down.

"Give her another minute. She's doing this for you." Santana looks out the window and her face registers shock. Quinn turns quickly to the window to see what Santana sees. She forgets the phone momentarily. "Miss Lonely Hearts!" Miss Lonely Hearts is in the act of propping an envelope up against the table lamp. She takes hold of a pill bottle and empties the contents into her hand. Placing the bottle down she takes a glass of water in her shaking grip, and readies herself for the gulp. "Call the Police!" Santana shouts.

Quinn picks up the receiver and starts to dial New York Police. At this moment the briefly quiet songwriter's apartment explodes back into sound, this time with a complete melody and all playing at once, the correct cords. The new sound is lovely and strong, sweet and melodic. Miss Lonely Hearts lifts her head to listen, and slowly lowers the pills and water into her lap. Her whole purpose hulted by the beauty of what she hears above her. Santana rests a hand on Quinn's phone wielding hand.

"Maybe that music will delay her taking the pills." Quinn looks back up to Schuester's apartment, the phone still ringing in her hand. Rachel appears in the living room, she looks across to the source of the music. She is as arrested by the melody as Miss Lonely Hearts. Then looking across the way to Quinn she hold up her delicate hand in victory to show her the jewelry she has discovered. At this point, Schuester appears coming along the corridor of his apartment house. Rachel completely unaware of his approach. Santana is so shocked she can only muster a gasp for breath. Quinn, near panic shouts in anguish.

"Rachel! Rachel!" At this very second the phone is picked up on filter.

"Precinct Six, Sergeant Beaste" Quinn opens her mouth to speak but nothing escapes. Rachel dashes back into the bedroom just in time to avoid being seen by Schuester, as he opens the door and enters the apartment. Finally able to speak Quinn urgently, with a serious and rapid voice answers the phone.

"A man is assaulting a woman at 125 West Ninth Street. Second floor rear. Make it fast!"

"Your name ma' am?" The woman on the other end asks nonchalantly.

"Quinn Fabray!" She spews

"Phone number?" Quinn can appreciate thorough, but right now she'd appreciate fast, more.

"Chelsea 2-5598" with a sigh.

"Two minutes." The woman answers and hangs up. Quinn's uncontrolled panic returns. Schuester crosses the living room, and goes into the bedroom. His attention focused instantly on the bed, where he picks of the out of place alligator handbag. He looks back in the direction of the living room, then in an instant his whole frame stiffens. His head turns a little further around to his right. He looks directly at Rachel, who Quinn can't see being she's out of sight in the corner of the room. He holds out the bag, and without moving starts to question the unseen Rachel. He take a little step forward. Quinn's palms are sweating and Santana is heaving in fear beside her. Will's head turns slightly to the lest as Rachel begins to emerge into the living room, backing away slowly. By her gestures and nervous laughter, Quinn can tell she's trying to offer him some lame excuse for being found in his home. He steps towards her more, entering the living room as well. Rachel edges toward the door, pointing to it as she apparently argues with him as to the way she came in. He points more roughly to the window. She makes one more step to the door, but Schuester reaches out quickly and grabs her by the wrist. He twists in brutally and flings her sideways onto the sofa beneath the window her head snapping back against the head rest. Quinn's heart breaking at the sight of such a small fragile looking women being flung around like nothing. She wants to scream out, to run and save her. But her damn legs won't let her. And Santana seems to be glued into the floor in terror at the whole sight.

With his right hand Will throws the handbag across the room in anger, and with his left open-palmed hand he demands something from Rachel. Slowly her right hand comes up shakily and opens. He takes the jewelry from her, looks at it for a surprised moment then shoves it into his coat pocket. He reaches down with both hands, and by the wrists jerks her to her feet. He is talking viciously to her, shaking her around slightly. Rachel calls out faintly in a moment of complete fear.

"Quinn! Quinn!" Her heart…shattered.

Schuester suddenly looks out at the neighborhood. He realizes that somebody might be watching him. He drags her across the room, reaches up with one arm, and the lights go off. The faint light from the bedroom illuminates their struggle, but not clearly enough for Quinn. She's furious, filled with rage for this man. She's staring, trying to penetrate the darkness to no avail. She bends her head forward in despair and after and brief moment speaks with deep sincerity.

"Santana, what can we do?" Santana's brows knit together in sadness, tears threatening to pour over the brim of her already shiny brown eyes. When they catch sight of something.

"There!" She points. "There they are!" Quinn springs her head up. Two policemen move quickly and professionally up the corridor to Schuester's apartment. They stop at the door, listen a moment and then ring the doorbell insistently. Inside the room, lights go on. Schuester is in the center of the room looking toward the door. Rachel staggers away from him, trying to rearrange her clothes and hair. She is as surprised at the interruption as Schuester. She wipes away a stray tear, not from Will but more for Quinn's sake. She can't imagine letting her see her like this. Let alone in tears. Will listens at the door, and looks back questioningly at Rachel. She shrugs. Quinn and Santana visibly relax a little, but neither say anything. After a moment of hesitation, Schuester opens the door. Quinn grabs her lens wanting the best visual she can get. For a moment Schuester looks genuinely frightened by the sight of the police. He's listening to the policemen talk, when he turns slowly and he clearly loses most of his fright, regaining some control of his face. He completes his turn and looks at Rachel a little puzzled. He then swings back towards the officers. Schuester displaying some indignation and complaint to the police as he nods his head vigorously toward Rachel. At this the police start to advance into the apartment, going directly for Rachel. She flashes a quick look to Quinn's window, but turns back as the first officer starts to question her now. Santana goes quickly to the table to grab a pair of binoculars she earlier belittled Quinn for, but she wants to see what Quinn can see.

Rachel starts to excuse her presence in the same manner she used before with Will. As if to say she come into the apartment by mistake. Schuester listening, comes quickly to contradict her accusatorily. He hold out the jewelry in his hand, and then picks up and shows the empty handbag. The policeman, impressed. Looks back to Rachel for an explanation. She has none.

"What's she trying to do? Why doesn't she turn him in?" Santana asks out.

"Smart girl." Quinn speaks, in a steadier less concerned tone.

"Smart! She'll be arrested!" Santana says putting down the binoculars and looking to Quinn like she's lost it.

"That'll get her out of there, won't it?" Quinn says returning Santana's look to her.

The first policeman indicates that Rachel is to come with them. He pauses momentarily to tell the second officer to take a statement from Schuester, about the attempted burglary. The second officer reaches for the jewelry in Schuester's hand, and takes it for examination. In the brief pause while the two policemen speak to each other, Rachel starts to wave her left hand behind her back to get Quinn's full attention. She stops waving and holds her fingers spread out. With her other hand she points to the wedding ring on her left hand.

"Mrs. Schuester's ring!" Santana shouts.

Quinn pans her lens upward across until it lands on Schuester's profile, he is looking down directly at Rachel's hands. His head slowly turns, and he looks right up! Straight into Quinn's lens. Suddenly he becomes aware that Rachel is signaling to someone who is watching him. And apparently has been, for quite a while. Quinn drops the lens into her lap.

"Santana the lights! He's seen us!" Santana Hurries from the window, turning off lights as Quinn backs her chair into the room. 'Damn it' she thinks, bashing herself for her lack of caution! As Schuester's attention is drawn back to the second officer to answer further questions, the first policeman takes Rachel by the arm and leads her out of the apartment. He takes her down the corridor pushing the curious people away from them. With the last light turned out Santana stops to catch her breath and turns to Quinn.

"When you took your first snapshot did you ever think it would bring you to this?" She asks.

"Santana, how long do you think he'll stay there?" Quinn asks her a little more urgently. Santana responds squinting out the window.

"Unless he's dumber than I think, he won't wait 'til his lease is up." Quinn points to a drawer in the wall cabinets.

"My billfold! In the right hand drawer." Santana moves to get it.

"What do you need money for?" She asks the blonde.

"To bail Rachel out of jail!" She finds the billfold and hands it to Quinn. She digs in for some cash and begins counting it.

"You know, you could just leave her there until after next Tuesday. So you could sneak away safely as planned." Santana comments as Quinn looks up sharply at her. Then, without comment goes back to counting. Santana smirks at this knowing full damn well that this girl loves Rachel whether admitting it or not. Some small victories shouldn't go unnoticed. Quinn stops counting and her eyes looks sad, filled with melancholy.

"One hundred and twenty-seven." She barely whispers.

"How much do you think you'll need?"

"First offense burglary…" She shrugs. "Probably two-fifty." She gets an idea and points. "The piggy bank!" Santana following the length of Quinn's finger get a piggy bank down from a shelf and hands it over. Quinn hurriedly cracks it open over her cast. Money comes pouring out. Mostly bills, thankfully. What isn't on Quinn's lap Santana collects from the ground, the two scurrying to count.

"Ten here." Santana hold up a few crinkled dollars.

"Thirty-three here. Total one-ninety. Not enough." Her shoulders fall again.

"I've got twenty or so in my purse. Give me what you've got." Quinn hands over her portion and looks at Santana with worry in her eyes. Santana can see right through Quinn's little façade. All she sees now is the look of a lost little girl without hope. Santana knows it's now her job to be more than a nurse, but what Quinn needs most. A friend.

"What about the rest S?"

"When those cops get a look at Miss Berry, they'll even contribute." She says lightening the mood. But almost certain her joke could be a real possibility. Santana gets to the door just as the phone rings. She pauses.

"Just a minute." Quinn tells the person on the phone. "I'll tell you who it is when you get back." She says to Santana. Who nods and exits. Quinn goes back to the phone call and glances out at the same time to the courtyard. "Fabray." She speaks.

"This is Puckerman, Quinn." Instantly Quinn can feel a sense of relief wash over her.

"Noah, I've got something real big for you!" a sigh rings in over the receiver.

"Look Quinn, don't louse up my night with another man killer stuffing a grisly trunk that turns out to be…"

"Listen to me! Rachel's been arrested!" She interrupts harshly.

"Your Rachel?" He says with a little sense of shock.

"My Rachel. She went into Schuester's apartment, and he came back. The only way I could get her out was to call the police." She can hear him sign heavily as he starts with anger behind his words.

"I told you that…" Quinn doesn't need him to finish.

"I know what you told me! She went in to get evidence, and she came out with it!" She shoots at him pointedly.

"Like what Quinn." His heart softens to her a bit.

"Like…Mrs. Schuester's wedding ring. If that woman were still alive, she'd be wearing it!"

"A possibility." Quinn is now in full ramble mode to prove her point to her ex husband.

"A fact!" She shouts. "Last night he killed a dog for pawing in his garden. Why? Because he had something buried in there. Something a dog could scent."

"Like an old hambone?" Puckerman says with a chuckle in his throat.

"I don't know what pet name Schuester had for his wife!" She says fast. "And that night he went out half a dozen times with the metal suitcase. He wasn't taking his possessions, because they're up in his apartment now!" She pauses to hear the man retort she feel is no doubt on its way.

"You think perhaps it was 'old hambone?" This time suppressing that chuckle.

"In sections! And one other thing, doubting Noah…it just occurred to me that all the calls Schuester made were long distance! If he called his wife the day she left…after she arrived in Merritsville, why did she need to send him a postcard saying she'd arrived?" After a pause.

"Where'd they take Rachel?" He asks no longer joking.

"Precinct Six, I sent a friend over with bail money."

"Maybe you don't need it. I'll run it down Quinn."

"Just don't dally. Schuester knows he's being watched. He won't hang around long."

"If that ring checks out, we'll give him an escort. So long Quinn. Sit tight, we'll get your girl home to you." Quinn smiles inside at his tone. He hangs up and she does the same.

She looks to Schuester's apartment, and rolls to the window. She looks a little puzzled at what she sees. Schuester's apartment is completely dark. No movement. No cigar glow. The corridor outside is lit, but empty. Quinn scratches the side of her head and studies the apartment. As if she might see some small clue as to where the salesman is. She looks toward the intersection to her left seeing nothing. She looks to the garden, where she sees Miss Lonely Hearts standing in the yard looking up to the porch of Miss Torso. The dancer is in her high heels and a fresh summer dress. Looking rather put together for someone usually undressed.

"Have you heard that song he's been writing?" Miss Torso asks indicating the songwriters apartment. Lonely Hearts looks up to the studio then back to the tall blonde with a nod.

"I'm glad I was here when he played it." She sits quietly a moment, thinking. Thinking about the events of the evening and the dual changes of heart, from both the women she's grown to feel some sort of connection to. Even if just through a window. She thinks about Santana, and how they've become real friends, and how she looks forward to the future times they can have together, with her not bound to a chair. She thinks of Noah and how they've come so far from so much trouble. How much they still care for each other and though they bicker they'll always have one another to fall back on. And then her mind lands on Rachel. With a deep sigh she lets her mind wander to that beautiful face, that strong conviction and a heart of solid gold. Rachel truly loves her and through resent proof showed that she would risk life and limb just to prove that to Quinn. In the midst of her musings suddenly…the phone rings.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you guys liked it, hope it didn't feel to rushed or scattered. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing finishing this one before I can start something else. One...maybe two more chapters left! Thanks for reading!<strong>


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